


Outtakes from the Junior Invitational Selection Camp

by Kantayra



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Gen, Humor, Sleepovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-12
Updated: 2009-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Behind the scenes in all the dorms of the Junior Invitational Selection Camp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for writing_fest, in response to 25 of the prompts. I wanted to explore writing some of the characters I usually forget to write about, so I decided to do a bunch of short (~1000 word) ficlets about each of the different groups: A, B, C, the coaches, and the first-year aides. Each 'chapter' of this larger fic contains one scene from each of the five groups. Some eventually develop into larger plots and some...don't. Whatever. This was more of a writing experiment for me than anything else. :P

The Legend of Sakuno the Brave: The Legend Begins

It all started with a bang, then a crash, then some tinkling sounds, and finally a very loud curse word uttered by lips far too young to know such language.

The dorms for Hanamura’s group happened to be closest to the kitchen, and four doors flew open in response. Oshitari and Amane’s door would have flown open, too, but the epic snores emitting from that vicinity had clearly shielded the room’s occupants from any outside disturbance.

“Did something just explode?” Atsushi asked blearily.

Behind him, Ryo yawned.

“Unless the building is on fire, I’m going back to bed,” Wakato grumbled and slammed his door shut again.

“I require exactly 8.23 hours of uninterrupted sleep to operate at peak efficiency,” Shinjoh announced. “My REM cycle has been disrupted.” No one cared.

“Is it anything serious?” Ibu wondered. “If it was something serious, I would expect the explosions to continue. It seems like it was only a single incident. In that case, I should just go back to bed. But what if someone was injured? They could be lying on the floor, bleeding and unconscious. Someone should really check. On the other hand, I—”

“Oh, be _quiet_ ,” Atobe cut him off, wearily pulling the sleep mask off his head and tightening the sash of his damson, velvet robe. “Kabaji?”

“Y- _awn_ ,” Kabaji half agreed.

They headed in the direction of the kitchen, where the bangs had originated. Everyone else grunted and went straight back to bed.

A light could be seen under the kitchen doors. Atobe could hear arguing from within and stormed in with a flourish, froze, and – for a moment – could do nothing but gape.

“Horio, you idiot!” Tomoka was yelling at the top of her lungs. “Look what you’ve done!”

“It wasn’t – ow! – my fault! Hey! It just – ouch! – collapsed on its own!” Horio insisted between getting swatted over the head with Tomoka’s spatula.

“Uh…Tomo?” Sakuno offered very weakly.

Tomoka couldn’t possibly hear her between her yelling at Horio and the regular ‘thwap!’ of the spatula on Horio’s head.

Atobe took in the scene, pressed weary fingers against his temples, and said patiently, “Kabaji?”

“Yes,” Kabaji agreed in his usual gruff rumble. And then: “Everyone, _be quiet_!” His shout was powerful enough to set all the pots and pans in the kitchen rattling.

Tomoka and Horio, shocked to discover that they’d picked up an audience, froze mid-swat.

“What,” Atobe sighed wearily, “is going on here, pray tell? It better be important to interrupt my beauty sleep.” He ran frustrated fingers through his bed-mussed hair.

The three children gulped.

“I-It was all Horio’s fault!” Tomoka squeaked. Atobe had been intimidating enough in his match against Tezuka, and that had been when they’d had Tezuka, all the rest of the Seigaku regulars, and a crowd of witnesses present. Atobe then didn’t even _begin_ to compare in scariness to Atobe now, when he had them cornered all alone and was furious specifically at _them_.

“I didn’t ask whose fault it was,” Atobe drawled, flashing teeth in a not-at-all-friendly smile. “I _asked_ what is going on.”

More gulps followed.

And then a very, very hesitant voice managed, “Th-The pots have rusted through, Atobe-san.”

All eyes turned to stare, shocked, at Sakuno.

Sakuno ‘eep’ed and worried her apron in front of her.

“Oh,” Atobe said. “Is that all? Kabaji?”

“Yes.” Kabaji dug around in his yellow-ducky-pajama pockets and, against the merciless logic of the universe itself, managed to procure a cell phone from inside.

The children blinked at that. Who on Earth slept with a cell phone and, more importantly, _why_?

“I need an industrial-sized kitchen set delivered to the Invitational Training Camp grounds in time to prepare breakfast by six,” Atobe said into the phone without even so much as a ‘hello’ beforehand. “See that it’s taken care of.” He hung up the phone with a snap. “I trust someone here has the common sense not to soak the pans through a second time?” He cast a disdainful look over Horio and Tomoka before fixing his stare on Sakuno.

Sakuno blushed. “Y-Yes, Atobe-san,” she agreed.

Atobe shrugged, apparently satisfied. “Come then, Kabaji. Let’s go back to bed.” He strolled back out.

“Yes,” Kabaji agreed on his heels.

Horio, Tomoka, and Sakuno held their breath for a minute, waiting until they were gone, and then:

“Wow, Sakuno!” Tomoka hugged her. “You were like a _superhero_!”

Sakuno let out a choking noise when Tomoka squeezed her neck a bit too hard. “Ack… Tomo?”

“Wait until we tell the others!” Tomoka enthused. “They won’t believe it!”

“Can’t…breathe…”

“Whatever,” Horio humphed. “I was just about to kick his ass, anyway.”

That was finally enough to distract Tomoka from inadvertently strangling Sakuno. “Liar!” she retorted. “You practically wet yourself when he looked at you!”

“I did not!” Horio insisted. “I could’ve taken them both, any day.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tomoka snorted in disbelief. “Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I am – Ow! Ow ow ow ow _ow_!” Horio exclaimed when Tomoka began swatting him over the head with the spatula again.

Sakuno just returned to chopping up the vegetables. It was actually easier and more productive to cook when the two of them were fighting like this. At least this way, they couldn’t mess anything _else_ up.

***

The Kirihara/Kamio Wars: Dance, Dance Devolution (Or: ‘Dunce, Dunce Revolution’)

“Hey! I think I’m starting to get the hang of this,” Sengoku announced in delight, bouncing inanely in time to the flashing colors on the screen in front of him.

On the platform next to him, Kikumaru leapt up high, did a quick spin in mid-air, and landed with feet in perfect position. The TV screen before them bestowed the move with an “Okay.”

“Aww,” Kikumaru pouted.

“You have to work on your timing,” Kajimoto advised him.

“The stunt was really cool, though, Eiji,” Oishi encouraged.

“Triple perfect score!” Sengoku pumped his fist in the air. “Lucky!”

Kamio glared at where Sengoku was getting dangerously close to _his_ high score.

“So this is what losers do to console themselves after getting thrashed on the courts, huh?” Kirihara sulked in the corner. “I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

Kamio glowered over at him. “You’re just jealous because I beat you.”

“Hey, hey,” Ohtori wrung his hands nervously. “Let’s not fight.”

Shishido just shook his head; Ohtori _really_ should’ve known better by now.

Kirihara snorted. “Oh, I’m incredibly jealous,” he drawled sarcastically. “You should quit tennis and devote all your time to jumping up and down like an idiot. Although, really, that’s pretty much all you do on the courts, anyway…”

“What did you say?” Kamio snarled.

Momoshiro caught Kamio by the shirt. “Watch yourself,” he glared at Kirihara.

“Why should I listen to you?” Kirihara snapped. “Don’t you just sit out as alternate most of the time anyway?”

Momoshiro smiled a very cold smile. “Hey, everyone,” he suggested with false brightness. “Let’s watch some tennis.”

Echizen, always willing to incite further conflict, suggested, “How about Kirihara’s Regionals match against Fuji?”

Momoshiro grinned back at him.

Kirihara’s hands clenched into fists, and he moved to lunge, but then a finger tapped him pointedly on the shoulder.

“Hey,” Kajimoto warned him. “Cool down.”

Across the room, Momoshiro was getting similar treatment.

“You’re here representing Seigaku,” Oishi chided him. “We all have to behave ourselves.”

Momoshiro grumbled out something that might have been an apology.

Kirihara grunted something back, and then, “Whatever. I’m going to the courts to practice.”

“Uh, it’s ten o’clock at night,” Kajimoto pointed out.

“So? There are floodlights.” Kirihara stalked off.

Kajimoto sighed and went after him.

“Aw, man!” Sengoku complained, completely oblivious to what was happening behind him. “Only forty points off Kamio’s high score. Unlucky, I guess…”

Kamio’s attention turned fully back to the game in alarm. “What?” he exclaimed in horror. “That close?”

Kikumaru’s shoulders slumped at his own score. “And I thought that flip was so cool, too…”

Shishido rolled his eyes. “How many times do we have to tell you? It can’t see your acrobatics. It’s all about timing.”

Kikumaru hopped off the platform. “Well, if you’re so good, you do it.” He stuck out his tongue at Shishido.

Shishido’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, hell no.”

“Oh, come on,” Ohtori encouraged him. “You haven’t gone yet.”

“And I’m not _going_ to go,” Shishido crossed his arms over his chest.

“You can do it,” Ohtori insisted. “It’s fun!”

Shishido opened his mouth, undoubtedly to say something very rude, then saw the earnest look on Ohtori’s face and shut it again. “No,” he said simply instead.

“Yeah, yeah!” Kikumaru cheered him on. “You should dance.” He did a little shimmy for no particular reason.

“ _No_ ,” Shishido repeated, looking increasingly panicked.

“You know who _else_ hasn’t gone yet?” Momoshiro teased.

Echizen covertly started inching toward the exit.

“Oh no, you don’t.” Momoshiro caught his arm. “You’re _dancing_.”

“Don’t wanna.” Echizen sulked.

“Too bad,” Momoshiro retorted.

Kikumaru snickered. “Echizen vs. Shishido? Man, this is going to be brilliant!”

“This is _lame_ ,” Shishido complained, but he forced himself to step onto the platform at Ohtori’s hopeful smile.

“Whatever.” Echizen dug his heels in and made Momoshiro and Kikumaru _push_ him onto the platform. “I’m not doing it.”

“Then you’re going to _lose_ ,” Sengoku snickered. “To _Shishido_. In _dancing_.”

Echizen blinked in alarm, just now realizing how embarrassing that would be.

Shishido stood in the direct center of his platform, arms crossed over his chest sullenly, sulking. “Can we just get this _over_ with?”

Kamio tapped the controls using Echizen’s platform. “I’ll give you guys an easy song, okay?”

Echizen muttered something under his breath.

“Ready?” Kamio announced. He hit start and stepped back off the platform.

Echizen blinked like a large cat waking up from its nap as a manic beat started playing and flashing arrows appeared before him.

“It’s like an automatic seizure machine,” Shishido grumbled and tapped the red arrow.

“Bad!” the screen scolded him.

“Hey!” he complained, face flushing red. He tapped the yellow arrow twice.

“Okay!”

“I’ll ‘okay’ you!” Shishido’s feet began skidding around wildly, with no sense of order or rhythm, trying to track down the right colors.

Next to him, Echizen was still blinking at the screen in awe. It was flashing warnings at him that he was about to die.

“You have to step on the right arrows!” Sengoku shouted at him.

Echizen shook his head and poked the right arrow with his toe.

“No, not that kind of right. Right as in ‘correct’,” Oishi added helpfully. “The same color as the screen.”

Echizen hit the red arrow about ten times in a row.

“No, it says green! Now blue! Blue, green, red, red, yellow!” Kikumaru started shouting out.

“Gah!” Echizen flailed a little, trying to follow Kikumaru’s instructions.

In the meantime, Shishido was stomping on the platform so hard the floor was shaking.

“Okay!” the machine informed him peppily.

“ _Die_!” Shishido continued stomping on it more.

“Shishido, calm down,” Ohtori tried to soothe him in vain.

“Oh, god…” Kamio buried his face in his hands. “They’re _killing it_!”

“Red, red, blue, yellow, green, green, red!” Kikumaru and Oishi were now chanting in unison.

“Hey, hey!” Echizen complained. “Slow down.”

Momoshiro stood in the center of the room, bent over at the waist, laughing so hard his sides hurt.

“I can hear that, Momo!” Echizen looked over his shoulder to glare at him.

“Look at the screen! Look at the screen!” Kikumaru and Oishi exclaimed in unison. “Red, green, re—oh no!”

Echizen turned back around to see that he was dead.

In the meantime, Shishido was jumping up and down on the platform violently.

“You don’t have to hit it that hard,” Ohtori winced.

“Hey, stop breaking my game!” Kamio complained.

“Yeah!” Sengoku agreed. “I still need to beat his high score!”

Kamio glared at him. Sengoku glared back.

In the meantime, Shishido finally died. Ohtori tugged him, still snarling, away from the platform. “Maybe we should go play tennis instead,” he suggested.

Shishido perked up at that. “Now you’re talking sense.”

Ohtori gave Kamio an apologetic shrug and shoved Shishido out the door toward the tennis courts and safety.

“Hey,” Echizen blinked, “I wanna play tennis, too.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Oishi said worriedly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Hyotei did it,” Echizen pointed. “ _And_ Rikkaidai.”

Kikumaru made a face. “Hey, yeah, Oishi! We don’t want them to get in more practice hours than we do.”

Echizen nudged Momoshiro with the toe of his shoe, where Momoshiro was rolling on the floor laughing at him. “Hey, Momo, we’re playing tennis. I’m going to kick your ass.”

Momoshiro was still snickering, but he managed to get to his feet and follow them out.

Kamio snorted. “They just don’t understand the true _art_ of dance!”

“I bet I can beat your high score,” Sengoku challenged him.

Kamio smirked back at him. “It is _on_!”

***

Do the Roommate Shuffle: First Movement

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” Oshitari drawled wearily.

“Because you snore.” Atobe grinned evilly and slammed the door to his and Kabaji’s room behind him. Clearly, the matter wasn’t up for discussion.

Oshitari frowned at the shut door for a moment and then turned around to consider his options. With Atobe and Kabaji rooming together, Oshitari was going to have to – heaven forfend – room with someone outside Hyotei. “How about you?” He pointed to the nearest person who didn’t look like a total psychopath. This just happened to be Kisarazu Ryo.

“I’m rooming with Atsushi,” Ryo insisted.

“And I’m rooming with Ryo,” Atsushi declared almost simultaneously.

With some kind of hive mind, they both headed for the second door on the left together.

“Good thing the rooms all have _twin_ beds,” Amane ribbed Shinjoh in the side and chuckled at his own joke.

Shinjoh stared straight in front of him and kept blinking in perfect, regular rhythm.

Amane frowned at this. “Aren’t you even going to _twin_ ge?” he added hopefully.

“I have no involuntary, repulsed reaction at this time,” Shinjoh informed him.

Everyone inched away from Shinjoh slowly.

“So,” Oshitari drawled, scanning over the available options that most certainly were _not_ Shinjoh, “one of you three.”

“I think we should determine who’s stuck with Shinjoh first,” Wakato suggested.

Oshitari blinked at him. “You are. Because you’re on his team.”

“What?” Wakato sputtered. “That’s not fair!”

“It seems fair to me,” Ibu muttered to himself. “While this is an individual competition, it remains important to maintain team solidarity. Or at least that’s what Tachibana keeps texting me. I suppose he’s texting Kamio, too. Although, technically, I don’t know that. It wouldn’t be right for me to say so, since I don’t know it for a fact. However, it seems a reasonable extrapolation. Perhaps I should consult with one of the data-collectors. They should know if…”

Oshitari tuned him out, and Ibu’s ramble turned into background noise, much like the buzzing of the overhead lights or the sounds of Kirihara and Kamio trying to kill each other the next dorm over.

“Doesn’t he ever stop?” Wakato sighed. Now that he had a dorm room with Shinjoh to look forward to, he was more than eager to hang out in the hallway.

Shinjoh selected a room for them, went inside, and immediately began doing sit-ups.

Wakato shuddered.

“I can’t believe it’s not _mutter_!” Amane snorted.

Oshitari looked at him, horrified. Then he looked back at Ibu, who was still muttering to himself. _These_ were his options. Mentally, he cursed Atobe.

“All right,” he sighed wearily, “I’ll room with Ibu.” Since Ibu was from Fudomine, Oshitari calculated that this was the best way he could piss off Atobe at the moment.

“I suppose inter-school unity is also important,” Ibu’s stream of consciousness continued. “It’s not like I have a choice, anyway. There’s no one from my team in this group…”

“I’m all alone, then?” Amane chuckled to himself. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was because I wasn’t very _pun_ ny!”

Oshitari shuddered delicately and retreated to his newly selected room.

Ibu followed on his heels, mumbling to himself all the while.

However, at midnight, when Oshitari was treated to, “Why do we park on driveways and drive on parkways? It doesn’t make any sense,” with no signs of abating, Oshitari groaned and finally couldn’t take it anymore.

“Will you just _be quiet_?” he growled.

Ibu was silent for a second. Then, “I could try, but technically I am still breathing, which produces noise. In addition, my heartbeat, while nearly inaudible, is still technically sound. I suppose that means that it would be impossible for anyone to be truly ‘quiet.’ Maybe if I was dead… Of course, then the chemical reactions of my body decomposing would…”

Oshitari grabbed his blanket and pillow and stalked out into the hallway. He banged loudly on Atobe’s door.

“Bwuh?” Atobe finally opened it, bleary-eyed, his sleep mask still pulled half down over one eye.

“Fudomine won’t shut up,” Oshitari pleaded. “Can I sleep on your floor?”

Atobe yawned. “No, you _snore_ ,” he reminded Oshitari, and slammed the door in his face for the second time that evening.

Oshitari glared, set his blanket and pillow down _right_ outside Atobe’s door, lay down on his back and opened his mouth wide. Let it never be said that revenge wasn’t sweet.

***

The High Life: Motivational Speakers

The sun baked down overhead, heating up the tiles around the pool until they were almost unbearable without sandals. The water lapped at the edges of the pool, a cool, artificial blue. The scent of suntan lotion and chlorine was thick in the air. Beside the pool, three beach umbrellas were set up, each carefully shading a pool chair. On what was shaping up to be the hottest day of the summer, it was unquestionably one of the most pleasant places to be in the whole country.

“So,” Hanamura sipped at her champagne – only the finest and most expensive, which Sakaki had received as a gift from Hyotei’s headmaster for pushing the team all the way to Nationals the previous season, “how did _you_ get rid of your students for the day?”

Ryuzaki, to whom the question had been addressed, chuckled to herself and rolled over onto her stomach so that she was in a more comfortable position. “I told them it was a ‘free practice.’ Instantly, Shishido and Ohtori challenged Oishi and Kikumaru to a doubles match. And Kamio and Kirihara started yelling at each other a lot. I figure that should keep them distracted all morning, and some time around noon, Momoshiro and Echizen will get bored, so _they’ll_ challenge each other. That gives me the afternoon off, too.” Ryuzaki took a sip of her own champagne.

“A dangerous game,” Sakaki drawled from the third pool chair, daintily biting a strawberry he’d taken from the bowl between them. “It depends entirely too much on unpredictable factors.”

Ryuzaki snorted and looked at him. “So how’d _you_ pull it off?” she demanded.

“I sent them on an eight-mile run,” Sakaki said simply.

Hanamura frowned at him. “Even in this weather, that will hardly take them all day. They’ll be coming around to look for you sooner or later.”

Sakaki smirked secretly to himself. “I left _Sanada_ in charge,” he concluded smugly.

“Oh…” Ryuzaki and Hanamura breathed in unison. That automatically doubled the distance, and Sanada no doubt would be thoroughly dissatisfied with everyone’s performance, so he’d have them running drills until suppertime.

“That’s cheating, though,” Hanamura concluded. “You just got lucky and drew Sanada in your group. You couldn’t have pulled something like that off with either of our groups.”

“Oh, no?” Sakaki raised one elegant eyebrow.

“The only real leader I’ve got in my group is Atobe,” Hanamura insisted. “And you _must_ know how impossible he is to control.”

Sakaki took another sip of his champagne. “I have my ways.”

“Of course,” Hanamura agreed, “but you can’t expect him to just do all your work for you, like Sanada does.”

“That, at least, is true,” Sakaki conceded. “How are you handling him?”

“I have my ways, too,” Hanamura retorted mysteriously. She stole a strawberry from the bowl.

“Oh, I have to hear this,” Ryuzaki flipped lazily over onto her back again. “What’s your team doing today?”

“Coordination,” Hanamura answered simply. She took a bite out of the strawberry.

Sakaki blinked at her. “ _Atobe_ agreed to that?”

Hanamura shrugged gracefully. “I just explained to him how a rigorously-structured training program would perfect his tennis.”

Sakaki and Ryuzaki gave her skeptical looks.

“And then, when he refused to listen to me, I told him his butt looked fat in his tennis shorts, and that he needed to spend the rest of the day in the weight room. The others fell into line easily enough once he was gone.”

“Ah…” Sakaki and Ryuzaki said in sudden understanding.

“It sounds like we’ve done it, then,” Ryuzaki sighed contentedly. “The pool is ours for the whole day.” She let out an epic stretch.

“Quite,” Sakaki agreed. He flipped open his book and set it comfortably in his lap to read.

“This is what being a coach is all about,” Hanamura sighed and reclined her chair for a good, long nap.

And that was when a very nervous cough interrupted them. They all looked up in surprise to see Kachiro there.

“Uh, we’ve finished sweeping the courts, cleaning the common rooms, and preparing dinner. So what should—?”

“ _Ooh_!” Horio cut in. “Hey, guys, we have a _pool_!”

“A pool?” Instantly, Katsuo, Dan, Ann, Tomoka, and Sakuno popped out of the woodwork. And somehow, in that way that only children could manage, they _all_ had swimsuits on under their clothes.

“I wanna play pool volleyball!”

“Ann, I’ll race you!”

“Marco! Marco!”

“Hey, no cannonballs!”

“Grandma, grandma, look at what I’m doing!”

Ryuzaki, Sakaki, and Hanamura stared at the hyperactive, screaming, _splashing_ spectacle in front of them in horror.

“Ladies,” Sakaki said wearily, “I think there’s a flaw in our master plan.”

Ryuzaki and Hanamura groaned in agreement.

***

The Five Trials of Sanada Genichiro: Tall Tales and Other Nonsense

“Ahem. Once upon a time, there was a man named…er, Fuji…agi, um, Seiichi. Yes, Fujiagi Seiichi.”

Yuta started snickering.

“Try to make it more obvious you’re making this up on the spot, Genichiro,” Yanagi cut in.

Sanada glared at him, pulled the cap lower over his eyes, and angled the flashlight up under his chin once more. “So this man, Fujiagi Seiichi,” Yuta started snickering again, and this time Fuji started going off, too, “he was a very…bad…man.” Sanada’s cheeks flushed.

Saeki blinked. “Seriously? Maybe we should let Inui tell another ghost story…”

Inui’s glasses gleamed out of the darkness.

“N-No,” Kaidoh shivered at the thought. “I like this story. Let Sanada continue.” He left off the “because it’s not scary at all.”

Sanada nodded in approval at Kaidoh. “This bad man, Fujiagi Seiichi was out late one night, slacking off.”

Mizuki gasped in mock-horror and returned to buffing his nails. Yuta was snickering again.

“He was slacking off like a drunken lout,” Sanada repeated, proud that he’d added in this brilliant embellishment, “so he heading home late at night.” He paused.

Everyone blinked.

“Oh, um,” Kawamura finally cut in politely. “And then?”

“And he was bitten,” Sanada said, like it should be obvious.

“Uh…oh.” Kawamura scratched his head.

“By a werewolf?” Sanada clarified.

“How…surprising.” Fuji smiled and patted Yuta on the back where he was now snickering so hard he was having a hard time breathing.

“Because it was the full moon,” Sanada reminded them.

“It was?” Kaidoh asked.

“Yes,” Sanada insisted. “I specifically told you that earlier. Try to pay attention.”

“That,” Mizuki sighed wearily, “would take superhuman powers of concentration.”

Sanada glared at him. “Why you…” He lunged, fist clenched and primed for bitch-slappin’.

Yanagi’s hand held him back. “We’re doing this to promote group solidarity,” he reminded Sanada. “Please, refrain from striking anyone.”

“Ah, sorry.” Sanada sat back down. “He just looks so much like Kirihara.”

“I understand,” Yanagi agreed.

“Hey, keep going,” Kawamura encouraged him. “That started to get a little bit scary there.”

“Ah, yes.” Sanada cleared his throat again. “It was the full moon, so he was bitten by a vampire.”

“You said it was a werewolf,” Saeki corrected him.

“Of course! A vampire…werewolf.”

Everyone blinked at him.

“That was a ghost.”

More blinking.

“A whole _pack_ of vampire werewolves that were ghosts!” Sanada amended.

“Sadaharu,” Yanagi suggested, “perhaps you _should_ take another turn.”

“I like this story!” Kaidoh cut in reflexively.

“I could always tell one,” Fuji suggested with a smile.

“ _No_!” Kaidoh’s voice came out as a squeak.

Fuji considered this. “Well, I suppose I could just read the phone book…”

Kaidoh almost said yes. That didn’t sound so bad…

“ _No_!” Yuta screeched in sudden horror. “You’re never, ever allowed to read the phone book _again_! Mom made you promise!” He began shivering convulsively and curled up against Mizuki for protection.

“While I will admit that Fuji is a magnificent eternal rival,” Mizuki accepted this turn of events with more than a little satisfaction, “how could he _possibly_ make reading the phone book scary?” He gave Yuta, then Fuji, a quizzical look.

“I’m sorry,” Fuji beamed, “what was your name again?”

Mizuki scowled at him.

“No, I want to know now,” Saeki cut in. “Come on, Shusuke, do it!”

“ _No_!” Yuta insisted, shaking his head vigorously.

“I confess to being intrigued,” Yanagi cocked his head to one side.

“Good data,” Inui moaned in ecstasy.

“This sounds like a bad idea.” Kaidoh was one of the few who maintained their sanity. “A bad, bad idea…”

“Slackers, be quiet!” Sanada shouted suddenly, unknowingly saving them all from a fate worse than death. “ _I’m_ telling the story!”

“Hey, that was good,” Kawamura encouraged him with a broad smile. “That’s the scariest you’ve been so far.”

“Ah, hmm, yes. Oral epics are an ancient and time-honored tradition. For the future of the Sanada clan, it was my duty to succeed in this noble endeavor.”

“Oh, dear god…” Mizuki’s face paled. “This really _is_ getting scary!”

Sanada tried to lunge for him again. This time it took Yanagi, Inui, and Kawamura to hold him back.

“Just finish your story,” Yanagi requested.

“Of course,” Sanada settled down with the flashlight once more, although he continued to glare Mizuki’s way. “So this man, er…”

“Yukimura Rensuke, wasn’t it?” Saeki provided.

“No, it was Takagi Seiichi,” Yuta corrected him.

“I thought it was Fujiagi?” Inui consulted his notes.

“ _Whoever_ ,” Sanada growled. “He was attacked by a werewolf.”

“A vampire werewolf,” Kawamura provided helpfully.

“A vampire werewolf that was a ghost,” Yanagi added.

“A whole pack of them,” Mizuki smirked.

Yuta started snickering again.

“Yes,” Sanada agreed. “And then he died.”

“I…see…” Kawamura tried to smile encouragingly.

“And?” Saeki pressed.

“That’s it.” Sanada crossed his arms over his chest. “The end.”

Silence followed, and then:

“That’s the best ghost story I’ve ever heard,” Kaidoh breathed a sigh of relief.

“It certainly was, um, different,” Kawamura agreed.

“I liked the part where the dripping blood crept into the younger brother’s room while he was sleeping,” Fuji agreed pleasantly.

Yuta paled. “What? That never happened?” His eyes darted around nervously.

“It looked black in the dark, so he couldn’t see it until it filled his nose and mouth, choking him slowly,” Fuji added helpfully.

“Knock it off, Shusuke!” Yuta whimpered.

“No, none of that happened,” Sanada said forcefully. “Only what I told you.”

“Oh, I can tell it’s a true story,” Mizuki agreed breezily. “Because no one could make up something _that_ lame.”

Sanada sputtered.

Yanagi, despite years of hard-earned self-control, snickered.

Sanada glared at him.

That set Yuta off snickering, too. Which set off Fuji again, and Mizuki and Saeki. Then Inui started in, although only because Renji said, “Just like Phosphofructokinase!” which made sense to absolutely no one but the two of them.

Sanada’s face turned red. “Shut up!” he snarled at them. “Slackers! _Fifty laps_!”

“Ah, Genichiro,” Yanagi managed to calm himself down. “This isn’t Rikkaidai.”

Sanada crossed his arms over his chest sullenly. “Well, it _should_ be,” he grumped.

“Okay, so,” Kawamura cut in cheerfully, “whose turn is it next?”

“I’ll go!” Fuji volunteered.

“Not Shusuke!” Yuta said at the exact same time.

“Not Inui!” Kaidoh said in the second of silence that followed.

“Well, I just went before Sanada,” Saeki considered.

“Renji hasn’t gone yet,” Inui pointed out.

Everyone exchanged nods. This seemed reasonable.

Yanagi held out his hand to Sanada for the flashlight. Sanada grudgingly turned it over. Yanagi flicked the light onto his chin, so that his face with illuminated with a demonic aura. “Last month,” he began in a deep, mysterious voice, “I was alone in the Rikkaidai locker rooms.”

Kaidoh immediately started shivering again.

“Around this time every year, I have a certain routine that I do,” Yanagi continued. “Nothing complicated, but it always keeps the rest of the team far away from the clubhouse, so I’m all by myself.”

Sanada’s eyes widened when he realized what Yanagi was getting at. “No… Renji, I don’t want to hear this!”

“Yes,” Yanagi agreed slowly and evilly, “it’s _Rikkaidai’s annual spring cleaning_ , when I clean out _everything_ that’s fallen behind the lockers from the past year. And here is a complete inventory of what I found _this_ year…”

Approximately forty seconds later, screams sounded throughout the room as the terrified listeners who just couldn’t take anymore fled from the common room back to their dorms. Needless to say, none of them slept a wink for the rest of that night.


	2. Chapter 2

The Legend of Sakuno the Brave: Critical Input

“Psst! Sakuno!” Tomoka whispered, eyes darting around wildly to make sure no one else was looking.

Sakuno blinked and headed over to where Ann was gesturing for her to join them in the bushes. “What’s going on?” she asked curiously.

“Shh, shh,” Tomoka hushed her and pushed her down so that she was on her knees, concealed behind the bushes, as well. “Look.” She pointed to the laptop she and Ann had set up on the ground.

Sakuno blinked at it and then blinked up at the courts, which could just be seen through a hole in the bushes. “You’re taking data on our team now?” Sakuno said warily. “Tomo, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea…”

“No, silly.” Tomoka patted her back. “ _Read_ it!”

Ann just snickered and typed out another sentence while Sakuno watched.

With a weary sigh, Sakuno leaned in over the screen and did so.

>   
> 
> 
> _fiji moaned and tongue kissed allot and it was hawt_  
> 

Sakuno blinked, looked up at the court where Fuji was playing Echizen with more focus than usual, and looked back down at the screen. “What are you _doing_?”

“Shh!” Ann hushed her.

“We don’t want Horio to catch us,” Tomoka soothed her.

“B-B-But…” Realization as to what they were doing sunk into Sakuno’s mind, but one horror stood out above all others: “You spelled Fuji-senpai’s name wrong.”

“Well, we’re changing the names, obviously,” Ann said matter-of-factly. “Otherwise, someone might find out.”

Sakuno sputtered.

“Come on, Sakuno.” Tomoka nudged her. “Even you have to admit it’s hot.”

Ann was typing again.

>   
> 
> 
> _tyoma was all buff and muscled and he tonuge kissed back. and then they where taking off there clothes and nekkid_  
> 

Sakuno tried not to blush from head to toe, and failed miserably.

On the court, Echizen grunted in a particularly obscene way.

Sakuno squeezed her eyes shut tight and tried not to think about it.

“You’re in the Ryoma Fanclub, too,” Tomoka encouraged. “Help us!”

Sakuno shook her head slowly, then very fast, forcing her braids to bounce against her shoulders.

>   
> 
> 
> _and he put his thingy in his hole and they had sex_  
> 

“Mmm,” Tomoka sighed contentedly.

Ann tried not to drool.

Sakuno tried not to look. It was just too horrible.

“Please?” Tomoka fluttered her eyelashes.

Sakuno sighed, took a deep breath, and opened her eyes. She was brave, and she could do this. “Okay,” she finally agreed meekly, trying to fight back her mortification.

Ann grinned and handed over the keyboard.

Sakuno took the keyboard, opened her eyes, and – before embarrassment could take her over again – quickly changed ‘allot’ to ‘a lot,’ ‘hawt’ to ‘hot,’ ‘tonuge’ to ‘tongue,’ ‘where’ to ‘were,’ ‘there clothes’ to ‘their clothes,’ and ‘nekkid’ to ‘naked.’ Then she hit grammar-check to fix all the capitalization problems and added three commas.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she was done. The page before her was no longer _completely_ embarrassing.

“Oh, wow,” Ann breathed in awe.

“You’re _good_ at this!” Tomoka squealed, then immediately put her hands over her mouth in an effort to belatedly cover up the sound.

“Will you beta my twenty-chapter Nomo/Camio epic?” Ann asked hopefully.

Sakuno hung her head resignedly and nodded in agreement. It was for the good of mankind, really.

***

The Kirihara/Kamio Wars: Running With Scissors

“Oh, hey, not good! Put the scissors down, Kirihara,” Kajimoto said nervously.

“Can’t.” Kirihara’s eyes narrowed, and he lunged around the coffee table. “He’s got _emo hair_! Must. Destroy!”

Kamio dashed back around the other side of the table. “You’re a fucking _psycho_!” he shouted back in alarm.

“Running with scissors is _bad_ ,” Ohtori’s eyes were wide, and he worried his hands together as he watched Kirihara chase Kamio back around the couch.

Shishido patted him on the shoulder. “Let’s get out of here before we get caught in the crossfire.”

Ohtori bit his lip. “But…we should help!”

“Hey, how about this?” Oishi suggested cautiously, approaching Kirihara with hands outstretched, the way one might behave with a wild animal. “Let’s put the scissors down, and then we can all sing Kumbaya together.”

Kikumaru scratched his head. “What’s that?”

Kirihara pouted. “But just _look at_ his bangs!” he protested. “They’re evil. They have to die.”

“Look who’s talking,” Kamio snorted.

Kirihara glared at him. “Why, you!” He lunged at him over the coffee table again.

Kamio dashed back around behind the desk.

“Well, on the plus side,” Echizen said, bored, “Kirihara’s _never_ going to catch him…”

“Drop the scissors and fight like _men_!” Momoshiro jeered, probably actually thinking he was helping.

“This,” Sengoku blinked, “is _not_ lucky…”

“ _Emo hair_!” Kirihara hissed and chased Kamio back around the couch.

“At least I don’t look like someone upended a bowl a seaweed soup on my head!” Kamio taunted back.

Kirihara snarled and leapt halfway across the room, nearly catching him.

“Okay, that’s it,” Oishi decided. “We have to _do_ something!”

Kajimoto blinked at him curiously. “If _you_ want to get close to Kirihara while he has scissors, be my guest.”

Oishi bit his lip at that.

“Maybe we should get Sanada?” Ohtori suggested.

“No good,” Kikumaru pouted. “Sakaki’s group is out doing a cross-country run right now. They could be _miles_ away.”

Shishido rolled his eyes. “Just dangle something shiny in front of his face. That’ll work.”

Everyone froze and stared at Shishido in disbelief that he’d come up with such a brilliant idea. Everyone except for Kamio and Kirihara, of course, who were still racing around the room.

“Uh,” Shishido said nervously, “I _was_ being sarcastic…”

“Quick, everyone!” Oishi announced. “Something shiny!”

“Does this count?” Kikumaru pulled his camera out of his pocket.

“Ooh, I didn’t even know I had this money in here,” Sengoku pulled out a handful of coins from his pocket.

“If you say ‘lucky,’” Shishido grumbled, “I’m taking the scissors to _your_ head.”

Sengoku gulped and wisely shut up. Everyone knew that Shishido was serious when it came to shearing.

“I have an iPod,” Ohtori said, “and a GameBoy…”

Momoshiro frowned. “I have a fuzzy thing.”

“Oh, I know how I can help,” Echizen said sarcastically. “I’ll go get some juice.” He walked right out.

“Liar!” Momoshiro called after him. “Get back in here!” He ran off after Echizen which, ironically, was even _less_ helpful.

“Okay,” Oishi decided, “here’s what we’re going to do. Eiji, you wait until they’re out from behind the couch and set out the money. Then, Sengoku will dash around on the left, and—”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Kajimoto sighed. He grabbed the GameBoy from Ohtori and the camera from Kikumaru. “Hey, Kirihara!” he shouted out. “Want to play video games?” He dangled the GameBoy in the air.

Kirihara froze for a moment from trying to save the world from Kamio’s haircut. His lower lip trembled at the temptation before him.

“If you don’t,” Kajimoto held up the camera, “I’ll take pictures of you slacking off and show them to Sanada when he gets back.”

The scissors clattered to the floor.

Kikumaru dove in, did a cartwheel and a somersault for no reason, and emerged with the scissors clutched safely in his hand.

Ohtori and Shishido advanced in perfect unison to cover Kamio’s mouth with their hands before he could insult Kirihara _again_ and start the whole mess all over. They manhandled him back out the door, muffled curses following them all the way.

Kirihara shrugged and took the GameBoy from Kajimoto. “’Kay,” he agreed absolutely pleasantly, sat on the couch, and started smashing buttons.

Everyone blinked at him.

“But he _does_ have emo hair,” Kirihara insisted, not looking up from the screen once.

“We know,” Kajimoto shook his head sadly. “ _Believe_ me, we know…”

***

Do the Roommate Shuffle: The Automate

“I can _not_ sleep on the floor again tonight,” Oshitari yawned. “Come on?”

“I told you,” Atobe insisted primly, “you _snore_.”

“Well, Kabaji sleepwalks,” Oshitari insisted. “And I should know. He tripped over me _twice_ last night.”

“Sleepwalking does not interfere with my beauty sleep,” Atobe informed him airily. “Snoring does.”

Oshitari glared at Atobe, then at Kabaji for good measure.

Kabaji blinked innocently and serenely down at him, honestly baffled by such unwarranted hostility.

Oshitari just sighed; it was impossible to stay mad at Kabaji for long.

“If you want to switch roommates so badly,” Wakato added in casually, draped over the couch on the far side of the common room, watching a match on TV, “I’ll trade with you.” He flashed Oshitari a wicked grin.

Oshitari paused and considered this for a moment. Three doors down, Shinjoh could be heard grunting regularly: “…Three-hundred twenty-one, three-hundred twenty-two…” However, last night Shinjoh and Wakato’s room had been blissfully silent. Yes, Shinjoh was clearly insane, but did it really matter if all they were going to do was sleep?

“All right,” Oshitari decided warily. “I’ll trade with you.”

“It’s a deal,” Wakato grinned.

Oshitari grinned back. “And now that that’s settled, Fudomine talks _all night long_. Enjoy.”

Wakato’s grin just widened. “That,” he informed Oshitari, “would be a _relief_.”

It was around this time that Oshitari started to get very worried.

Atobe let out a graceful little yawn and covered his mouth with one hand. “Well, I think it’s time for bed. Kabaji?”

“Yes,” Kabaji agreed, following after him.

Wakato snickered at Oshitari. “Sweet dreams,” he teased and headed off to Oshitari and Ibu’s old room.

Oshitari frowned, rose slowly, and ventured out to meet his new roommate. “Uh, hey,” he said, standing in the doorway and watching Shinjoh do push-ups. “Wakato and I switched, so I’m your roommate now.”

Shinjoh didn’t respond at all. “…Three-hundred ninety-one, three-hundred ninety-two…”

“So, uh, if it’s okay with you, I’ll just be going to bed now.” Oshitari slipped around Shinjoh’s bed – perfectly made with immaculate hospital corners – to Wakato’s sloppy one.

“…Three-hundred ninety-five…”

“Er, good night, I guess.” Oshitari blinked at him and crawled into bed.

“Three-hundred ninety-nine, four-hundred, that is acceptable,” Shinjoh said like it was just another push-up.

It took Oshitari a second to realize that Shinjoh was actually talking to him. “Ah, good,” he agreed.

“I need to fall asleep at exactly 10:16 and 20 seconds to obtain my peak efficiency in sleep,” Shinjoh announced, getting up and moving to sit on his own bed. “Have the light turned off by then.”

“Uh… Okay…” Oshitari had been planning to fall asleep right now in order to avoid as much of Shinjoh’s insanity as possible, so that wasn’t really a problem.

“I will do my morning exercises from exactly 6:30 and 45 seconds until 6:52 and 13 seconds,” Shinjoh informed him.

“I’ll…just go to sleep now,” Oshitari turned his lamp off and squeezed his eyes shut.

“I trust we will be efficient and productive roommates,” Shinjoh concluded. He turned off his light as well.

Oshitari breathed a sigh of relief. No incessant muttering filled the darkness. Contentedly, he rolled over onto his side…and jumped with a start when he realized that Shinjoh was lying on his side in the bed across the room, _staring_ at Oshitari.

“What are you doing?” Oshitari said in a voice that came out far too much like a squeak.

“I am perfecting my visual acuity by practicing honing my focus in low-light situations,” Shinjoh said, like that was perfectly _normal_.

“Well, do you have to stare at _me_ while you do it?” Oshitari demanded.

“Your face is the appropriate distance and has sufficient fine detail to test my eyes to perform at peak efficiency,” Shinjoh explained.

Oshitari shivered. He _wanted_ to turn his back on Shinjoh so he didn’t have to see him, but then he’d _know_ Shinjoh was staring at his back, and that would be even worse. Alternatively, he could try to order Shinjoh to knock it off, but for all he knew, whatever cybernetic programming Shinjoh’s crazy coach had wired into his brain would order him to “Kill! Destroy!” if that ever happened. Oshitari clutched the sheet tighter to his chest as the minutes ticked by.

Just as an experiment (and an effort to keep his own sanity) Oshitari started counting in his head once the clock on the nightstand turned to 10:16. At the count of twenty exactly, Shinjoh’s eyes shut with a snap loud enough to be audible.

Oshitari tried not to think too much about that and went to sleep.

He was woken up two hours later to something beyond even his wildest horrors:

“Oh, yes! Yes, Coach Hanamura! _Coordinate me_!”

Oshitari bolted upright in his bed and _glared_ at where Shinjoh was making very obscene movements under his perfectly crisp sheets. “This is ridiculous,” he sighed wearily, grabbed his blanket and pillow and headed back out into the hall.

He paused in front of Atobe and Kabaji’s door, but he could see that someone had squeezed a towel into the crack at the bottom of the door from the inside to keep the sound out. Oshitari grumbled some more and headed for the common room lounge and the lumpy, stained sofa therein. He was _never_ forgiving Atobe for this.

***

The High Life: A Touch of Sweetness

Ryuzaki wandered into the coaches’ lounge for some tea and froze at the sight in front of her. Hanamura and Sakaki were sitting across from each other at the table, eagerly rifling through brown paper parcels.

“Shouldn’t you two be…coaching or something?” she asked curiously.

“We told our groups to have practice matches against each other,” Sakaki explained, fished out a box of Men’s Pocky™ from one of the packages, and opened it.

“Atobe challenged Sanada within exactly 4.5 seconds,” Hanamura agreed. “Or maybe it was the other way around. I forget.” She found a banana toffee and popped it in her mouth.

“ _Everyone_ is watching,” Sakaki concluded. “They won’t notice we’re missing for at least two hours.” He unwrapped a lychee gummy.

“And that’s if it _doesn’t_ go into tie-break. Which it will.” Hanamura found a cat-shaped cookie and moaned with ecstasy after the first bite.

Ryuzaki raised an eyebrow. “What’s all this stuff?” she demanded.

“Contraband,” they informed her in unison.

Ryuzaki took a step closer. She could now recognize the return addresses on several of the packages. “Were those supposed to go to the _students_?” she asked in surprise.

“Absolutely,” Hanamura agreed.

“Care packages from home,” Sakaki added.

“But sweets will completely ruin the children’s training regimen,” Hanamura concluded.

“So we’re helpfully taking care of it for them,” Sakaki finished and stole one of the cookies that had had Hanamura in rapture earlier. A similar look of bliss crossed his face.

“You’re telling me you’re _stealing_ —Ooh, honey drops!” Ryuzaki said excitedly and took one. “Mmm, yes, good thinking. The students’ diets obviously need to be carefully managed.” She took another.

“So far the parents who have asked have even agreed,” Hanamura smirked.

“Mrs. Fuji even sent us a specially-made package of sweets for taking such good care of her boys,” Sakaki explained.

Ryuzaki munched on a third honey drop. “Oh?” she said suspiciously.

“Yes,” Hanamura agreed. “In fact, it’s that package you’re eating from right now.”

Ryuzaki choked on her fourth honey drop. Hanamura immediately ran over to thump her on the back.

“I’m eating stolen _Fuji_ cookies?” Ryuzaki exclaimed in alarm.

“No,” Sakaki corrected her. “Those were made specifically for us.”

Ryuzaki felt a bit queasy. That didn’t make things any better. “I’d better go back to supervise practice,” she concluded and fled with her tea.

Hanamura and Sakaki just exchanged shrugs.

It was a complete coincidence, of course, that that was the same afternoon Ryuzaki collapsed.

Hanamura and Sakaki glared at the package afterward, in response. The package just continued to look sweet and delicious.

“Obviously,” Sakaki concluded, “this package was really meant for the Fuji boys themselves.”

“Absolutely,” Hanamura agreed. “They will make an ideal control group.”

“Control group?” Sakaki said innocently. “Ryuzaki just collapsed from heat stroke, of course.”

“Oh, of _course_!” Hanamura agreed.

Fuji and Yuta were more than delighted to receive treats from home, and over the next forty-eight hours, neither of them collapsed.

“Perhaps Fujis have natural immunity built into their DNA,” Hanamura considered. “I want to run some experiments.”

Sakaki’s eyes widened. “You’re going to try to run experiments on _Fuji_?”

Hanamura frowned at the impracticality at that. “Okay, so maybe I’ll snag the little one instead.”

Sakaki coughed. “So you honestly think that you’re _less_ likely to die if you run weird scientific experiments on the baby of the Fuji family?”

Hanamura pouted. “Damn.” She went back to the lounge for more of those delicious cookies Mrs. Kisarazu had made, but she found they were gone. Tezuka had left a note saying that he would distribute the mail that day.

“There’s something wrong with that boy,” Sakaki sighed wearily.

“He doesn’t understand what it means to be a coach at _all_!” Hanamura agreed.

Little did they know that Tezuka got a 25% cut out of the deal.

***

The Five Trials of Sanada Genichiro: Strays

The second night of the invitational camp, a dog barked all night long outside of Sakaki’s group’s dorms.

The third night, the dog barked again until Fuji flung his window open wide and _glared_ into the night.

The fourth night, the dog didn’t bark at all.

“By my calculations,” Mizuki pushed frantically at the buttons of his graphing calculator, “the odds that Fuji killed it are 95%.”

“Your data are wrong,” Inui informed him, jotting down numbers in his notebook. “It’s closer to 68%.”

“I come up with 73%,” Yanagi countered.

“I have more detailed personal data on Fuji than you do,” Inui countered.

“Oh, yeah?” Mizuki sulked at being excluded from their little data-loving club. “Well, neither of you have had to _play_ him in a tournament. I still say it’s 95%.” He crossed his arms over his chest in a huff.

Yuta looked up from his book to scowl at them. “You guys are all sick. Shusuke wouldn’t kill a dog.”

He received incredulous looks in response.

“He’d track down the owner, very politely suggest that they keep the dog inside at night, and threaten to report them to the police for molesting him if they didn’t.” Yuta snorted at them all. “ _Duh_!”

“Oh.” Inui frowned. That _did_ seem more likely, now that he thought about it.

“Hmm,” Yanagi agreed.

“All right,” Mizuki concluded. “Next on the murder agenda, then: What are the odds that Kirihara and Kamio will kill each other before the end of camp?”

“That’s easy,” Yanagi scoffed. “There’s a 4% chance that Kamio will kill Kirihara, a 10% chance that Kirihara will kill Kamio, and an 86% chance that the coaches will kick them both out before it comes to that.”

“I concur on the last number,” Inui agreed, “but the other two are reversed. It’s 10% that Kamio will kill Kirihara, and 4% vice-versa.”

“You are allowing your bias to interfere with the data,” Yanagi informed him. “Kirihara is clearly superior.”

“Bias?” Inui retorted. “Kamio isn’t even on my team. If anyone’s data is skewed by bias, it’s yours.”

“Okay, you people are all crazy.” Yuta put aside his book with a sigh. “I’m going back to my room, where it’s _more normal_.” He stalked out, book in hand.

Mizuki, Inui, and Yanagi exchanged shocked looks. After all, Yuta’s roommate was _Fuji_.

“That’s most certainly wrong,” Mizuki insisted. “I am at least 90% more normal than Fuji.”

Yanagi and Inui blinked at him, then looked at each other.

“It’s time for bed,” Yanagi concluded.

“Agreed,” Inui got up.

“But,” Mizuki protested, “if Fuji _didn’t_ kill the dog, then we still have to figure out what did happen to it.”

Yanagi and Inui nodded goodnight to each other and headed into their separate rooms.

“Humph,” Mizuki grumbled to no one in particular.

Inui certainly didn’t expect to find the answer to Mizuki’s question in his dorm room, however. “What?” Inui blinked as he stepped inside to see the newly transformed room.

“Shh!” Kaidoh shushed him, glancing nervously out the door before shutting it behind Inui. “Senpai, you’ve got to promise not to tell anyone.”

Inui adjusted his glasses and squinted. It looked like… “Kaidoh, is that a dog bed…and a water dish…and newspapers…and leftover ham from dinner?”

Kaidoh blushed and scratched the back of his neck nervously. “If you tell, then they’ll make him go back outside. Or worse: take him to the pound. Do you know what happens to unwanted dogs there?”

Inui sighed and did the mental calculations: _Odds that Kaidoh snuck outside with food, lured a stray dog back into our dorm room, and started caring for it as a pet: 98%._ Really, it had always been much more likely than the Fuji option. Inui didn’t know why he hadn’t considered it before.

“Kaidoh,” Inui said seriously, “we can’t keep a dog in here.”

Kaidoh’s expression fell. “Why not?”

Inui felt the stupid impulse to tell him that they could, after all. “Because camp will end in a couple of weeks. Then what will we do?”

“Sneak him back on the bus,” Kaidoh explained. “If my mom sees him, she’ll let us keep him.”

Inui felt a headache coming on. “There’s no way we can hide a dog that long. How’d you even get all this stuff anyway?”

Kaidoh snorted. “Horio was on kitchen patrol.”

 _Odds that Kaidoh just glared at Horio, and Horio ran away screaming without asking any questions: 100%._ “I appreciate that you want to save a homeless dog,” Inui finally said, “but this just isn’t practical. We need to take him to the coaches, and odds are that someone will—”

Kaidoh turned to find the adorable puppy and show it to Inui, so that Inui would melt at the overwhelming force of puppy-dog eyes. Unfortunately, the puppy was not present. “Uh… Senpai, I think we have a problem…”

“I’m glad you agree,” Inui sighed with relief.

“No, I mean, the dog’s gone.”

Inui paused and considered this. “When did you last see him?”

“He was here right when you came in.” Kaidoh looked under the bed. “I tried to hide him under here, but… He’s gone now!”

 _Odds that Kaidoh actually thought he could conceal a dog from me in this tiny, Spartan dorm room we are sharing: Better not to think about it or might lose all respect for doubles partner’s intelligence._ “He must be here,” Inui frowned instead and checked under his own bed. There really wasn’t any place for a dog to hide.

“He must’ve slipped out when you opened the door,” Kaidoh accused.

“Well, I didn’t know you were hiding wildlife in here!”

“We have to find him,” Kaidoh’s voice turned worried. “What if someone else finds him first?” His eyes darted nervously in the direction of Fuji and Yuta’s room, which was right next to theirs.

“We determined that the odds of Fuji killing puppies are actually quite miniscule,” Inui assured him.

Kaidoh didn’t look assured. Instead, he ran out into the hall. Inui sighed and ran after him; even he had to admit that it would be best if they recovered the dog themselves and reported it to the coaches without involving the rest of the dorm.

“You check that way,” Inui pointed down the hall to the left, “and I’ll go this way.”

“Thanks, senpai,” Kaidoh said in relief and headed off down the hall.

Inui went his own way and passed Fuji and Yuta’s closed door. He listened in for a second, but the muffled conversation seemed to be about tennis. Inui’s fingers itched to write down every word of advice Fuji might give his younger brother on this topic, but unfortunately he had more important matters to attend to. He reluctantly left the door behind and turned the corner.

Kawamura and Saeki’s room was on the immediate right, but they had gone earlier to play ping-pong down in the game room, and Inui hadn’t heard them come back yet. As a result, their door must have been closed the whole time.

Further down the hall and to the left was Sanada and Yanagi’s room, and that door was wide open. Inui approached it cautiously and peered inside.

A pair of eyes on the bed peered back at him. Then, the small, brown puppy returned to ripping apart the object in its mouth.

“Oh no…” Inui breathed, lunged, and caught up the puppy and snatched away its prey. A very moist, completely destroyed black ball cap presented itself to him.

Inui froze in a moment of abject panic, and then a rather evil part of his mind kicked in: _Odds of Sanada never finding out who did this if you sneak the dog back to the coaches right now: 22%._ Inui clung to that 22% chance of not dying, dropped the desecrated hat on the bed, and _ran_ back to his room.

In his head, he did mental calculations. Neither Sanada nor Yanagi were in their room, but they were both punctual about their sleep schedules, so they wouldn’t have gone out. That must mean that they were in the bathroom, getting ready for bed. In order to return to their room, they’d have to pass Inui and Kaidoh’s room, which meant that Inui would be able to hear them passing by. If he ran for coaches’ rooms the instant they turned the corner, he could easily escape before Sanada found his hat and went on the warpath.

It was the perfect plan.

At that moment, Kaidoh burst back into their room. “Mizuki’s door was locked, Sanada and Yanagi were in the bathroom, and Mizuki was in the common room the whole time. The outside door was open, though, so—” Kaidoh paused and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the wriggling mutt in Inui’s arms. “There’s a good boy,” Kaidoh cooed in the most ridiculous voice Inui had ever heard him make. “You shouldn’t scare Kaoru like that.” He scratched the puppy under the chin, and it licked his hand in response.

Inui, for no good reason, felt the sudden urge to blush. “Um, ahem. We have a problem.”

Kaidoh looked up at him.

“He was on Sanada’s bed. You don’t want to know what he did.”

Kaidoh’s eyes widened.

“We have to sneak him out to the coaches as soon as Sanada’s out of the bathroom.” Inui handed him over. “You’re the faster runner.”

“But…”

At that moment, Sanada and Yanagi’s voices could be heard in the hallway, heading back for their room.

“Hurry!” Inui hissed.

Kaidoh blinked at him, looking a bit starry-eyed. It managed to be both nice and vaguely disturbing at the same time.

Down the hall, Sanada’s bellow of outrage could be heard.

“Go!” Inui threw open their door. “Save yourself!”

“S-Senpai,” Kaidoh stammered out. “I’ll never forget this.” And then he was off.

“A _million_ laps!” Sanada came storming around the corner mere moments after Kaidoh made his escape. “A million laps for _everybody_!”

Later that night, Inui would have been a lot happier to learn from Kaidoh that Hanamura’s nephew had just been looking for a new dog, or that it turned out that Sanada kept a dozen spare, identical caps in his luggage, except for the fact that he never thought that he’d be able to catch his breath again after all the laps Sanada had made them run.

“Sorry,” Kaidoh handed him a towel and smiled hesitantly.

And Inui realized, stupidly, that he’d do the whole thing again if he Kaidoh asked him to.


	3. Chapter 3

The Legend of Sakuno the Brave: Bad Luck

“We’re all going to _die_!” Horio announced first thing that morning while they were cleaning up.

“Huh? What?” Kachiro looked around nervously in case Atobe had come back, now that Sakuno wasn’t there to save them.

“What are you talking about?” Katsuo eyed Horio suspiciously.

“Don’t you know anything?” Horio insisted. “It’s _Friday the thirteenth_!”

“So?” Dan blinked at him.

“So it’s _bad luck_!” Horio informed them all. “Today, the fates are turned against us all.”

“Really?” Katsuo scratched his head. “Every single person on the planet simultaneously has bad luck?”

“That doesn’t seem likely,” Kachiro agreed.

“Wouldn’t all the hospitals be overcrowded, then?” Dan said. “And it would be on the news, and—”

“It’s bad luck,” Horio repeated. “You want to know what happened to me _last_ Friday the thirteenth?”

“What?” Dan asked curiously.

“Tell us!” Katsuo agreed.

Horio frowned down at the garbage bag before him in distaste. “Help me carry this out, and I will.”

Katsuo, Kachiro, and Dan, who were – of course – completely oblivious to all forms of deceit, agreed immediately. The three of them jostled along the overstuffed garbage bags, while Horio led the way completely unencumbered. It was a great thing to be the supervisor.

“Now, tell us,” Kachiro demanded as he lugged his bag down the back stairs.

“So I woke up last Friday the thirteenth, and I foolishly didn’t even know what day it _was_ ,” Horio began. “I got out of bed and, first thing, stubbed my toe on the doorframe.”

“That’s not so bad,” Katsuo said skeptically.

“I’m just beginning!” Horio insisted. “So, after that, I dropped my toothbrush in the toilet.”

Kachiro snickered.

Horio scowled at him. “Then I went downstairs to breakfast, but my dad had to go into work early, and my mom had to rush over to my aunt’s to help with the baby, so she left me a note to make breakfast for myself. So I had cold rice cakes.”

“Bummer,” Kachiro agreed.

Dan nodded vigorously.

“Then, there was a pop quiz in math class that day, and I forgot to do the homework in English,” Horio rattled on. “I forgot to bring my lunch, and everything was gone in the lunch line by the time I got there.”

“Isn’t that practically _every_ day for you?” Katsuo pointed out.

Horio glared at him. “Finally, one of the upperclassman knocked his bag into me, and I fell down the stairs. It was a _cursed day_!” Horio insisted.

“It _does_ seem unlikely that all of that could happen on a normal day,” Dan said thoughtfully.

“But it doesn’t mean anyone’s going to _die_ ,” Kachiro pointed out. Then, he tripped over an exposed root and fell face first into the garbage he was carrying. He got back up with a sputter, swatting at the potato peels that were all over his face.

Katsuo’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, it’s _true_!”

“Save me, Akutsu-senpai!” Dan squeaked.

They all gave him very odd looks.

“So now you know.” Horio waggled his finger at them authoritatively. “You have to be extra on-guard all day. I’m sure if Captain Tezuka were here, he’d tell us all.”

“Doesn’t he say that every day?” Katsuo scratched his head.

Horio swatted at him for good measure. “Come on, guys. Finish taking the trash out,” he ordered.

Kachiro and Katsuo blinked, just now realizing how Horio had tricked them into doing all the work. Dan continued on, completely oblivious. However, when he turned the corner leading to where the garbage pick-up was, he froze.

“Uh… Guys?” he said nervously. “I-I think we have a problem.”

Horio, Kachiro, and Katsuo rounded the corner, stopped, and stared.

“Uh…” Katsuo said nervously.

“No way!” Kachiro gasped.

“See?” Horio proclaimed. “It’s the Friday-the-thirteenth curse!”

The four boys looked in dismay at the three-story ladder the maintenance crew had set up, so that the _only_ way to the garbage bins was to walk underneath it. Atop the gate outside the bins, sat a black cat, contentedly licking its fur. As the four of them gaped, an owl swooped by in broad daylight.

“I-I’m not going in there!” Kachiro exclaimed.

“Me, neither!” Katsuo agreed.

“Nuh-uh,” Dan shook his head.

“ _You_ do it.” They all turned to Horio at once.

“W-What?” Horio sputtered. “We had a deal! You guys take out the trash, and I tell you all about Friday the thirteenth.”

“What’s the point of telling us about bad luck, just to force _more_ bad luck on us?” Kachiro demanded.

“It’s your turn today, anyway,” Katsuo insisted.

Dan just shivered.

Horio gulped.

“What, are you _scared_?” Kachiro demanded.

“Ha!” Horio laughed. “Me, scared? Never! I’m just…”

“Scared,” Katsuo teased.

“ _Cautious_ ,” Horio insisted. “Plus, there’s no reason I should put myself in danger unnecessarily.”

“How else are you going to take out the trash, then?” Katsuo demanded.

“Well,” Horio considered. “It’s not that far. We could just stand here and sort of lob the garbage bags in the direction of the bin.”

Kachiro considered this. It seemed feasible. Except… “Someone would have to open the gate first.”

“The gate that’s right under a ladder,” Katsuo pointed out.

“With a black cat on it!” Dan cheeped.

“On _Friday the thirteenth_!” Horio wailed.

At that moment, Sakuno decided to skip up to them. “Hey, guys,” she said shyly. “Tomo wondered where you were. She needs help setting up the cafeteria.”

Three frightened looks and one scheming look were leveled at her.

“Ah, hey, Sakuno.” Horio scratched his head in a way that he hoped looked casual and innocent. “Can you open that gate for us? We need to take out the trash.”

Sakuno blinked at him. That didn’t really make sense, since he could just open the gate on his own. On the other hand, there was no harm in it, so she just nodded and headed off to do so.

The four boys breathed in awe as she walked right under the ladder, scratched the cat under the chin until it purred and hopped away, and opened the gate wide.

“Is that it?” Sakuno asked curiously when she returned to them.

“Y-Y-Yes,” Horio stuttered. “That’s it.”

Sakuno beamed at them. “I’ll see you guys at breakfast, then.” She skipped right off.

They all watched her go, gaping.

“Sakuno…” Kachiro breathed.

“So brave!” Katsuo gasped.

“Almost as strong as Akutsu-senpai!” Dan exclaimed.

Horio snorted. “Whatever. Now, we have to toss these bags into the trash from here, without getting any bad luck on us. Drat, I should’ve gotten Sakuno to do it…”

The others nodded very seriously. Clearly, even the worst luck was no match for Sakuno the Brave.

***

The Kirihara/Kamio Wars: The Usual Drill

“I’ll show you your _rhythm_!” Kirihara screeched and tackled Kamio to the ground.

Momoshiro and Echizen didn’t even blink as they each moved to the side of the path and continued running right on by the dogfight.

“At this rate,” Momoshiro said thoughtfully, “we might even win.”

Echizen just grunted and picked up the pace.

“You’re such a _psycho_!” Kamio snarled and shoved Kirihara’s face into the mud.

“Oi, oi!” Kikumaru barely leapt over their heads in time as their struggle put them directly in his path.

“Be careful,” Oishi worried. “Someone could get hurt.” But he wasn’t giving up his place in the race, either, so he continued running past them.

“Die, die, _die_!” Kirihara snarled and tried to punch Kamio in the face. Kamio ducked just in time, and Kirihara’s hand ended up slipping in the mud instead. They both fell over again.

“Uh… Should we…?” Sengoku asked curiously as he raced past them.

“I’ve had enough of breaking those two up,” Kajimoto hummed to himself over the beat coming from his iPod. “Let them sort _themselves_ out for once.”

Sengoku considered this for a second, but he’d already passed them by, so it really was too late. Plus, hell like he was going to risk coming in last.

“You’re just mad because you were _too slow_!” Kamio taunted, sputtering mud.

“I was fast enough to catch _you_ , wasn’t I?” Kirihara sputtered back.

Shishido and Ohtori darted around them where they were sitting in the middle of a muddy puddle right in the center of the path, throwing dirt clods at each other and screaming.

“I really don’t look forward to next season,” Ohtori sighed wearily to himself.

Shishido snorted. “ _Those two_ as captains?”

Ohtori sighed again. “Worse: What if I have to play _singles_?” He shuddered.

Shishido snorted again. “It’s only one year.”

“One year with _those two_ as captains,” Ohtori corrected.

Shishido shuddered this time. “You have my deepest condolences.”

However, then they spotted Oishi and Kikumaru up ahead, who had just been passed by Sengoku and Kajimoto.

“We can take them,” Shishido grinned at Ohtori.

A hint of competitive light gleamed in Ohtori’s eyes. “We so can.”

They dashed off until they were in a dead heat with the Seigaku pair. Of course, Oishi and Kikumaru refused to take that challenge lying down, so soon all four of them had caught up to Echizen and Momoshiro, who had _also_ been passed by Sengoku and Kajimoto.

“Bad. Pacing!” Momoshiro gasped as Shishido passed right by him.

Next to him, Echizen wheezed his way up the hill.

“Oi, oi!” Kikumaru cheered them on. “Only one more mile!”

Momoshiro and Echizen groaned in unison, and Shishido gave Kikumaru an annoyed look.

Off in the distance, the sounds of a catfight could be heard.

As the finish line approached, the race heated up. Coach Ryuzaki came into view in the distance, a stopwatch in hand. It was enough to give nearly everyone a second wind.

“They’re catching up to us!” Kajimoto said nervously.

“Hurry up, then!” Sengoku glanced behind him. Unfortunately, he lost his footing and stumbled. This tugged on the rope that bound him to Kajimoto, and they both tumbled. By the time they got back up, the Shishido/Ohtori, Oishi/Kikumaru, and Momoshiro/Echizen pairs had all passed them.

It turned into a dead heat between Shishido/Ohtori and Oishi/Kikumaru. Everyone was so exhausted by this point that they were tripping each other up, except for those who were scarily psychic doubles pairs.

However, just as they reached the final dash for the finish line, the screams suddenly sounded a lot closer.

“Get back here, you jerk!” Kamio screamed.

Kirihara raced forward, eyes wide and terrified. Somehow, Kamio managed to stay right on his tail without tugging on the muddy rope that bound them together.

“And you call _me_ the psycho?” Kirihara shouted back over his shoulder.

Everyone gaped in disbelief as they dashed right by, at well-nigh superhuman speed, and left everyone else in the dust.

“ _Shit_!” Kajimoto and Sengoku swore and pushed themselves to the limit to try to pass Momoshiro and Echizen. In the end, they were too late, though.

“Not bad times,” Ryuzaki commented calmly, checking her stop watch, as all the pairs – except Kirihara and Kamio who were still chasing each other around the side of the building – collapsed to the ground just past the finish line. “Sengoku and Kajimoto, you came in last, so you’ve got clean-up duties tonight.”

Kajimoto and Sengoku let out groans in unison from the ground.

“And Kirihara and Kamio win game room privileges for the night,” Ryuzaki concluded. “You all could learn a lot from them about teamwork.”

“Bwuh?” Kikumaru blinked.

Shishido glared.

With a self-satisfied smile, Ryuzaki headed back to the coaches’ lounge. “Dismissed for today.”

“She’s evil,” Momoshiro gasped. “She was _mocking_ us!”

Echizen nodded weakly in agreement.

“I can’t _believe_ we lost to them,” Ohtori worried his lip between his teeth. “Shishido?”

Shishido just grunted.

Kajimoto and Sengoku just _glared_ at each other.

“‘Put Kamio and Kirihara together’,” Kajimoto mock-imitated Sengoku’s suggestion from earlier. “‘That way at least we can’t lose.’”

Sengoku hung his head in shame. Everyone else did, too. After all, there were few things more depressing in the world than discovering that Kirihara and Kamio accidentally had better teamwork. Especially when shouts from another fight breaking out could be heard all the way from A-Court.

***

Do the Roommate Shuffle: Virtuoso

“ _I_ get the common-room sofa tonight,” Wakato announced. “I called it. Just so you know.”

“I got here first,” Oshitari retorted. “It’s mine.”

Atobe blinked and looked up from the very fine book of German poetry in his lap. “Are you two honestly fighting over which of you gets to sleep on that moldy old couch with the weird stain?”

Wakato and Oshitari turned to glare at him in unison. “Yes!” they insisted.

Atobe blinked some more.

“Do you have any idea how much Ibu _talks_?” Wakato ranted. “He _never_ shuts up!”

“At least he’s not moaning out perverted fantasies about his coach,” Oshitari retorted.

Atobe’s face scrunched up in distaste at that.

“At least Shinjoh is quiet _some_ of the night!” Wakato insisted.

“At least Ibu doesn’t _stare_ at you!” Oshitari shot right back.

Atobe shook his head slowly. “Far be it for me to interfere,” he said loftily, “but if your roommates are causing such problems, why don’t the two of you just room with each other?”

Wakato and Oshitari opened their mouths to object, and then quickly shut them.

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Wakato said carefully.

“Of course. It’s an excellent idea,” Atobe hummed to himself and returned to his book.

“The best part is,” Oshitari added, “that Ibu and Shinjoh will be stuck with each other.”

Wakato tried not to moan at the thought of revenge. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Let’s do it,” Oshitari agreed gleefully.

Shinjoh and Ibu were remarkably amenable to this change of affairs. Of course, ‘amenable’ meant that Shinjoh didn’t even pause in doing sit-ups when informed of this, and Oshitari and Wakato were able to easily shove Ibu and all his belongings into Shinjoh’s room, all while Ibu mumbled to himself about something involving Stockholm Syndrome.

“There,” Wakato breathed a sigh of relief and collapsed on Ibu’s old bed. “It’s done.”

Oshitari claimed the same bed he’d used the first night. “Peace and quiet.”

“At last!”

“Ah…”

In the distance, a cricket could be heard chirping.

“So…” Oshitari drawled warily after the requisite awkward silence had passed.

“Yeah?” Wakato asked curiously.

“You don’t mind if I practice, right? I won’t play until three in the morning, or do crunches while doing it, or anything like that.”

“Eh.” Wakato waved a hand in the air. “Go ahead.”

Relieved, Oshitari pulled his violin out from under the bed and began tuning. Wakato pulled out a perfectly ordinary tennis magazine and started reading it on his bed. Oshitari ran through a few scales, then pulled out the latest concerto his instructor had given him. The fingering was an absolute bitch, and he worked through it slowly and methodically, over and over again, training his fingers in the correct motions.

“You know,” Wakato watched him from the bed, worrying his lip between his teeth as Oshitari finally set the violin down to make several notations on his sheet music, “I think I’ve heard that piece before. Can I?”

Oshitari blinked as Wakato picked up his violin and bow and then, with a flourish, copied Oshitari’s fingering _exactly_ , without the slightest slip-up.

When Wakato was done, he grinned.

Oshitari gaped, snatched his violin away, and stormed right back out to the common room.

Atobe looked up from his poetry book in surprise when Oshitari flopped down on the moldy old couch with the weird stain in a miserable sulk.

“Do I even want to know?” Atobe asked wearily.

“This is all _your fault_!” Oshitari accused.

“Things with Wakato didn’t work out, I take it?”

“He’s worse than both Ibu and Shinjoh _combined_ ,” Oshitari insisted vehemently.

Atobe wisely decided to leave him to his teenage angst.

***

The High Life: A Midnight Rendezvous

“This is _not_ a good idea,” Kachiro worried and ducked behind a bush.

“We’re going to get in trouble!” Katsuo agreed and crouched down behind him.

“Shh!” Horio turned back to glare at them. “Do you want Atobe to catch us?”

That shut Kachiro and Katsuo up right away. The prospect of having to face Atobe alone, at night, in the middle of the campgrounds, was daunting, to say the least.

“Maybe we should get Sakuno?” Katsuo suggested hesitantly.

“We don’t need her,” Horio insisted, then dashed ahead, parallel to the path, to hide behind another bush.

“You’re just jealous ‘cause she was brave enough to actually talk to him,” Kachiro taunted Horio.

“Hey!” Horio turned around to glare at him.

“Shh!” Katsuo and Kachiro squeaked in unison, covering Horio’s mouth and tackling him to the ground.

Up ahead, illuminated under one of the streetlights that lit up the path, Atobe froze and turned around suspiciously.

Horio, Katsuo, and Kachiro shivered in the bushes.

Apparently, they’d hidden themselves well enough, because Atobe turned and continued walking down the path. His followers snuck along behind him.

The path led past the tennis courts, around the center of the campgrounds, and ended up passing beside the coaches’ building. They were on that leg of the path now, and that seemed to be Atobe’s destination. Atobe reached the curve in the path up ahead, and suddenly he picked up his pace, although he never broke his casual stride.

Horio, Katsuo, and Kachiro dove into the bushes just at the bend of the path and peered out.

There, leaning against one of the lampposts and gazing up at the stars overhead, stood Tezuka.

The children’s eyes widened.

“I knew he was up to no good!” Kachiro insisted.

“We have to save the captain!” Horio said illogically.

None of them dared to step out of the bushes, of course.

Tezuka looked in Atobe’s direction, and the children realized – with surprise – that Tezuka must have been waiting for him. The two approached each other and half circled around once they were close, almost like some kind of dance. When Tezuka’s face was toward them, the onlookers could see that he had a faint smile on his lips.

Katsuo scratched his head. “Aren’t they supposed to be archenemies?”

“They _hate_ each other!” Kachiro said. “You saw them play at Regionals!”

Horio frowned. “We have to get closer. I want to hear what they’re saying.” He inched on his belly through the underbrush.

Katsuo and Kachiro exchanged a nervous look. However, they rationalized that, even if they got caught now, Tezuka could save them from Atobe’s wrath, so they followed after Horio.

“—may have gotten carried away,” were Atobe’s first words they could hear as they all hid behind a broad tree trunk. Luckily, they were in the shadows, and Atobe and Tezuka were right in the light, so they were safely out of view.

“You think?” Tezuka asked dryly.

Atobe waved a hand airily. “He just gets on my nerves. No sense of humor whatsoever.”

Tezuka snorted. “And here I thought you just didn’t like to share.”

Atobe grinned at him. “That, too.” He checked his watch. “In any case, he’s late. Let’s get going.”

Tezuka crossed his arms over his chest and raised one eyebrow.

Atobe leaned in. “Come on. Won’t it be more fun without him, anyway?” His hand rested on Tezuka’s elbow persuasively.

Tezuka’s lips quirked, and he nodded in the direction Atobe had come from. “Here he is now.”

Atobe sighed and looked. Horio, Kachiro, and Katsuo looked, too. There, jogging down the path was…

“That’s Rikkaidai’s Sanada!” Kachiro cheeped.

“He’s Seigaku’s sworn enemy!” Katsuo gasped.

“Oh no, the captain is outnumbered!” Horio flailed.

“Leave it to you to turn _everything_ into training,” Atobe commented wryly when Sanada approached.

Sanada glared at him. “I had to shake Renji. And Inui. …And Mizuki.”

Tezuka’s shoulders shook slightly like he was trying not to laugh. Atobe, whose hand was still on Tezuka’s arm, offered him a lazy smile.

“Let’s go,” Tezuka decided and slipped out of Atobe’s grasp.

The three of them walked side-by-side, completely companionably, along the path toward the coaches’ building. Horio, Katsuo, and Kachiro blinked at each other in disbelief.

“Something very weird is going on,” Kachiro said nervously.

“Aren’t they supposed to be fighting?” Katsuo agreed.

“I’ve got it!” Horio concluded, slamming his fist into his palm. He winced slightly at the force of the impact. “The captain’s been _brainwashed_!”

“Ooh!” Kachiro and Katsuo breathed in unison.

“We have to save him!” Horio concluded and began to take off after them, still keeping to the shadows, of course.

Just then, Atobe’s hand reached out to grab Tezuka’s shoulder – the same shoulder he’d injured in Regionals.

“Hurry!” Katsuo exclaimed.

Tezuka stopped and turned to look at Atobe. A second later, Sanada stopped as well.

“I forgot to mention,” Atobe said with a resigned sigh, “the peanut gallery has been following me all the way from the dorms.”

Horio, Kachiro, and Katsuo all came to a sudden halt, collided with each other, and dove desperately for the bushes.

Tezuka and Sanada looked over Atobe’s shoulders _right at them_.

“Do you think they can see us?” Kachiro whispered.

“I think the bush is moving!” Katsuo worried.

“Be quiet!” Horio hissed.

“Ah,” Tezuka said calmly. “You can come out now,” he called out.

Kachiro, Katsuo, and Horio exchanged a worried look.

“Come out _right now_ , slackers!” Sanada ordered in a tone that was almost a growl.

Horio, Kachiro, and Katsuo yelped and leapt out of the bush.

Tezuka sighed wearily. “You’re not supposed to be out after dark.”

The children gulped, and then Kachiro pointed out, “Well, _they’re_ not supposed to be out after dark, either.” He pointed to Atobe and Sanada.

Tezuka, Atobe, and Sanada exchanged a look.

“Hmm,” Tezuka said. “Perhaps you’d better come with us.”

It was Horio, Kachiro, and Katsuo’s turn to exchange a look at that. Volumes were spoken between them in that moment concerning the ‘Tezuka: Brainwashed or No?’ debate. Eventually Horio nodded at their mutual conclusion that Tezuka _seemed_ normal (except for the not kicking Atobe and Sanada’s asses part), and they scuttled nervously over to where the older boys were waiting.

Atobe let out a little “humph” but didn’t say anything more.

Tezuka led them all back to the building where the coaches were housed, and they took the elevator up to the third floor. There, Tezuka produced a key and opened the door to an oversized suite.

“So unfair,” Atobe complained and immediately stalked through to the bedroom so that he could sprawl over Tezuka’s king-sized mattress. “Do you have any idea the accommodations they’re keeping us in?”

Sanada scowled at him. “Pampering breeds _laziness_ ,” he accused.

Atobe scowled back up at him and stretched luxuriously over Tezuka’s bed. “Fine, then. You can sit on the floor.”

Tezuka nudged Atobe to one side and sat on the edge of the bed. “Everyone, make yourselves comfortable,” he offered, looking pointedly at Atobe, who hadn’t even _waited_ for the offer to be made.

Sanada sat in the armchair beside the bed. Horio, Katsuo, and Kachiro, who had no idea what was going on, all huddled together on the floor.

Tezuka flicked on the TV. Tennis lit up the screen. Horio, Katsuo, and Kachiro’s eyes widened.

Sanada let out a sound a little like a moan. “This is the _preliminaries_. Of this year’s Wimbledon?”

“The coaches’ library is very completely stocked,” Tezuka concluded smugly and leaned back against the headboard.

“Mmm, tennis,” Atobe sighed longingly beside him, still splayed out decadently.

Horio, Kachiro, and Katsuo perked up at this. They had had no clue what all the conspiring was about, but this was better than their wildest dreams. “We need popcorn,” Katsuo concluded.

“There’s a kitchenette, but you’re making it yourself,” Tezuka informed him.

“And we’re not pausing it,” Atobe added.

Katsuo padded off to do so. However, while he was out there, there was a knock on the door. He bit his lip, but the knocking continued, so eventually he had to open it.

Fuji smiled back at him. “Hi, can I come in?”

Katsuo had been on the team long enough to know that you just _didn’t_ cross Fuji. He opened the door. “Did the captain invite you, too?”

“No,” Fuji said brightly. “Sanada was just so distracted shaking Yanagi, Inui, and Mizuki that he forgot to shake me. I brought Taka, Yuta, and Saeki.”

They all trailed in behind him, Saeki bringing up the rear. “I brought beer,” Saeki provided helpfully.

Katsuo waved in the general direction of Tezuka’s bedroom. _He_ definitely wasn’t dealing with this.

However, no sooner had he closed the door when there was a second knock. Katsuo opened the door again.

Mizuki held up a small beeping device. “I put a homing transmitter on Fuji.”

Inui held up a second device. “Except Fuji promptly removed it and attached it to a stray cat.”

“So we attached a homing device on Yuta,” Yanagi concluded.

Kaidoh stood at the back of the group, looking vaguely embarrassed.

Katsuo just sighed and let them all in. He waited and glanced at his watch. Approximately thirty-two seconds later, there was another knock.

“Why were you following Atobe and, more importantly,” Oshitari demanded, “why was Atobe sneaking out in the middle of the night?”

He had Kabaji on his heels, who it seemed had been trying to hold him back. Amane was behind them, then Ibu, Wakato, and two very sleepy-looking Kisarazu twins.

“There’s tennis,” Katsuo let them in. That perked the Kisarazu twins right up. “Where’s Shinjoh?”

“Oh,” Ibu explained, “he requires exactly 8.23 hours of uninterrupted sleep to operate at peak efficiency.”

Everyone else blinked at him like he was crazy, but they all came in anyway.

Katsuo just left the door open this time.

“Oi, oi!” Kikumaru bounded in with Momoshiro. Oishi and Echizen were on their tails. “We heard there was a party!”

Katsuo scratched his head. “From whom?”

“We figured, if there wasn’t one, we’d impose one on this sweet suite Tezuka has,” Momoshiro added.

In the distance, Katsuo heard someone smack Amane. “It wasn’t me this time!” Amane complained.

Katsuo let them all in, too. ‘Them all’ included Sengoku and Kamio, and Kajimoto and Kirihara, too, it turned out.

“The suite is big enough that we can keep them in separate rooms,” Sengoku informed Katsuo.

“It’s the only way,” Kajimoto agreed.

Katsuo shut the door behind them.

Back in what was now the party room, Tezuka sighed wearily. “This is much louder than the night I envisioned.”

Atobe smirked at him and scooched closer to let Oshitari and Kabaji have seats on the bed, as well. “You should have known. Everywhere I go, a party follows.”

Tezuka snorted.

“Lighten up,” Atobe assured him. “Who are you going to get in trouble with?”

In fact, both Sakaki and Hanamura could hear the noise (it was impossible to miss), and they both banged on each other’s walls to turn the damn TV down, before swearing under their breath at each other and pulling out the earplugs.

***

The Five Trials of Sanada Genichiro: Letters from Home

The first weekend of the invitational camp, the initial mail from home arrived. Sanada scoffed at the notion. First of all, even _his_ parents weren’t so old-fashioned that they didn’t know how to send e-mail. Second, they were all in _junior high_ now. Who wanted to read letters from home, anyway?

Fuji and Yuta swarmed around their letter, though, elbowing each other and reading aloud at parts. Apparently, they both found their older sister to be absolutely hilarious.

Kawamura opened his letter and grinned broadly at what was inside.

Kaidoh curled up in a corner with his, and his cheeks flushed and a stupid dopey grin kept sneaking onto his face when he forgot to frown.

Saeki regaled the Fuji brothers with tales from Chiba, after they were done with their own letter.

Yanagi and Inui didn’t get any letters, but apparently one of them had ordered a book on statistical analysis, and _that_ had arrived. They dove upon it like starving men upon the last, succulent piece of sushi. Sanada figured that neither of them would emerge for the next ten or so hours.

Even Mizuki received a brief letter, and the absolute shock on his face was pretty funny, Sanada had to admit.

But, no, Sanada’s family knew better. He was an adult now, and he didn’t need…

“There’s one for Sanada Genichiro, too,” Sakaki commented blandly and offered it to Sanada.

Sanada absolutely did _not_ snatch it up. That would have been undignified. He also didn’t wait until no one was looking and sneak back to his room to read it. It was merely noisy in the common room, and Sanada liked to concentrate on such matters.

As soon as he was alone and the door to his room was shut behind him, he ripped into the envelope with zeal. The return address wasn’t his parents’. He knew whose it was, though, because he was such an attentive vice-captain and he kept himself informed on these topics.

Inside was a card with an Impressionist painting on the cover. Sanada supposed it was a nice one, although he didn’t really know much about these things. But if Yukimura had sent it, it _must_ be nice, because Yukimura had wonderful taste.

On the inside of the card was a long, flowing letter in Yukimura’s graceful handwriting. Sanada curled up eagerly on the bed to read it:

> My dearest Genichiro,
> 
> Things are going well here. Yesterday, I had my last physical rehab session. I’ve been given a clean bill of health, and I’ve already slaughtered all the regulars back at Rikkaidai 6-0. :D The training regimen for Nationals is going well, although I’m disappointed to see that our doubles teams turned into dreadful slackers while I was out ill. I’m making them run five times as many laps. They keep complaining that I’m killing them, but if they’re alive enough to complain, they’re alive enough to run more laps, right?
> 
> We all miss you very much. I can hardly wait for you to come back, so that I can slaughter you 6-0, too. It’ll be just like old times! :D It’s just not the same without you here to bitch-smack all the lazy asses. I tried to teach Jackal how to bitch-smack everyone for me, but his heart just wasn’t in it. Plus, he needs to bitch-smacked half the time, too. :(
> 
> When you come back, let’s make everyone run a hundred laps, okay? And then you can bitch-smack everyone who complains, especially those lazy doubles players, whee! :D It’ll be so much fun! Here, I drew you a picture, so you can come back home sooner:
> 
> Don’t slack off, or maybe I’ll have to bitch-smack you, hmm? Should I try that some time, on your perfect, taut ass? Do you have a hankerin’ for some spankerin’, Genichiro? We’ll have such a wonderful time together! :D And then, when we’re done with high school, we can take over the world together, and we’ll make _everyone_ run laps, and you can punch all the slow people in the stomach! Yay!
> 
> See you soon, my Genichi-wichi snuggle-puss vice-captain!  
>  XOXO  
>  ♥♥♥  
>  Seiichi

Sanada blinked at the letter, read it over carefully once more, and then blinked again.

“Ah… Ahem?”

Sanada looked up in surprise and blushed when he saw that Yanagi was standing behind him, reading over his shoulder. “Ah! What?” Sanada scrambled to hide the letter.

“Well…” Yanagi began carefully. “I was going to inform you of an interesting new statistical model I’ve created for determining our line-up at Nationals.”

“Ah, good, good,” Sanada breathed.

“But now I feel compelled to inform you… You do realize that letter is a fake, correct?”

Sanada scowled up at him. “Of course, I do!” he insisted. “Yukimura is a _much_ better artist than that.”

“Oh. Carry on, then,” Yanagi looked mildly disturbed that _that_ was what Sanada found most wrong about the letter.

“It’s Nioh, no doubt,” Sanada grumbled.

“No doubt,” Yanagi agreed.

“Is it possible to assign a thousand laps?” Sanada wondered rhetorically.

“If it is possible, I’m sure you’ll think of a way.” Yanagi began backing slowly out of the room.

“Humph,” Sanada agreed and tossed Nioh’s forgery aside.

Yanagi slipped back out.

…And as soon as the door was shut, Sanada leapt back for the letter and curled up with it under the blankets once more.

“Some day,” he whispered to the card and stroked the likeness of Yukimura’s visage.

Yukimura smiled back up at him in promise. The blood gleamed in the light from the lamp. Not that Sanada would ever admit his secret fantasy to another living soul.


	4. Chapter 4

The Legend of Sakuno the Brave: Shopping Wars

“What else is on the list?” Ann asked, leading the shopping entourage.

“Squash,” Sakuno read off, “and that’s it.”

“Vegetable aisle,” Ann noted. “Sharp left.”

Dan, who was pushing the cart, managed to make the turn even with the squeaky right wheels.

“Greens, tomatoes…” Ann walked down the aisle. “Does anyone see any?” She frowned.

Sakuno and Dan looked around. “There,” Dan finally pointed to the bottom shelf, where only four squash remained.

“Barely enough,” Sakuno said and reached for the first one.

At that point, however, they were stopped by an angry voice. “Hey, we were here first!”

Ann, Sakuno, and Dan looked up to see three children about their age. The girl in the front had a long ponytail and her arms crossed over her chest.

“Those are ours,” she insisted.

Ann stood right up to her. “We got here first,” she insisted.

“Oh, yeah? Well, we need them more,” the girl countered.

“We need them for tennis camp,” Ann countered haughtily.

The girl blinked at her surprise. “ _We_ need them for tennis camp, too!”

“Nuh-uh,” Ann retorted. “You just stole our idea. It wasn’t even convincing, either.”

“Hey!” the girl objected. “I’ll have you know that I’m Araki Riko, and I’m a first-year in the Ginka girls’ tennis club.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m Tachibana Ann, and I’m a second-year at Fudomine.”

“Fudomine? Weren’t you unseeded or whatever?”

“ _We_ advanced to Nationals,” Ann retorted.

“You just got lucky in the draw!”

“Didn’t your team forfeit to Seigaku?” Dan scratched his head.

“Who are you?” one of the Ginka boys chimed in. “Another Fudomine?” The boy puffed up his chest. “I’m Satoh Koji, and I’ve got two years karate experience, so you’d better not talk trash about our senpais.”

Dan blinked at him. “But Ginka really _did_ resign to Seigaku.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Riko insisted. “We called the vegetables first, so they’re ours. We need them to make dinner for our team’s away camp.”

“Come to think of it…” Ann said thoughtfully. “Why _isn’t_ anyone at Ginka at the Invitational Camp? Oh, right, because it’s _invitational_!”

Riko gasped. “Why, you!”

“Why, you!” Ann glared right back.

“Akutsu-senpai, save us!” Dan squealed.

Koji’s eyes widened in alarm. “Akutsu’s here? Akutsu from Yamabuki?” He grabbed Riko’s sleeve. “Let’s get out of here!”

“I’m not going without my squash,” Riko insisted.

“Well, you’ll have to get through me to get it,” Ann retorted.

“Fine. Let’s settle this, then.”

“Tennis?” Dan guessed.

“Is there another way?” Koji blinked in surprise.

“Uh… Guys?” The third member of the Ginka party, a little, dark-haired girl with glasses, cut in meekly.

“Not now, Yasuko. I have to show this Fudomine girl what Ginka’s made of,” Riko boasted.

“But guys…” Yasuko pressed.

“Leave these two to us,” Koji instructed her.

Yasuko whimpered and watched as Sakuno picked up the squash from the shelf, seemingly oblivious to the increasingly ridiculous conflict between the rest of them, and wheeled the cart over to the check-out line.

“But what’s the point of fighting if they’ve already bought the squash?” she sighed.

No one listened to her.

“I’ll show you,” Riko announced, “I’ve got a serve that will knock you silly.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, my brother is Tachibana Kippei, and he’s been teaching me for _years_.”

“Didn’t he get his ass kicked by Rikkaidai?”

“Didn’t your whole _team_ get their asses kicked by Echizen?”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I—”

“Uh… Guys?” Sakuno said softly on the other side of the check-out line, in a way frighteningly similar to Yasuko.

Ann and Dan looked over in surprise.

“I’ve already bought the supplies.” Sakuno smiled at them. “We have to get back to make dinner.”

“Hey!” Koji protested. “They stole those right out from under our noses!”

“Bye!” Ann gave Riko an evil smirk and took off.

“I’ll say hello to Akutsu-senpai for you,” Dan said.

Koji gulped.

Riko just snorted. “Just like them to run off. I guess I can’t blame them for being terrified of Ginka’s might.”

Yasuko just sighed wearily.

***

The Kirihara/Kamio Wars: Conflict Mediation

“You heard what I said!”

“Oh, yeah? Well, I dare you to say it to my face!”

“I just did! What, are you deaf as well as weak?”

“That’s it! I’ve had it!”

“Well, I’ve had it, too!”

“There’s only room for one of us here!”

“Let’s settle this once and for all!”

A fight broke out in the middle of the common room, the fifth that day, in fact.

Ohtori sat on the couch and pouted. “I’ve got so much homework over the break,” he complained. “I’m never going to get it done at this rate.”

Shishido grunted and _glared_ when a stray elbow jabbed him in the side, causing him to spill his juice all over the armrest of the sofa.

“Die, die, die!” Kirihara yelled.

“In your face, you freaking nut-job!” Kamio jammed Kirihara’s face right into the open jar of dip at the center of the table.

“Hey!” Kikumaru’s face fell. “I was going to eat that!”

Oishi sighed. “We’re trying to play a game here.” He shifted out of the way just in time for Kamio and Kirihara to roll right on by him.

“I see your twenty and raise you fifty,” Echizen informed Momoshiro.

“I’ll see that and raise you _another_ fifty,” Momoshiro grinned, froze, and turned around and scowled when a stray thrown pillow from the fight whapped him in the back of the head.

“Heh,” Echizen snickered, looked down at his full house, and accepted the bet.

Kirihara and Kamio continued to roll on, kicking and thrashing, until they crashed into the coffee table. They knocked it, and everything on it, onto the floor, and then started rolling and kicking and thrashing on _that_ , too.

Kajimoto sighed.

Sengoku scratched his head. “This really is getting out of hand.”

“We should put a stop to it,” Kajimoto agreed.

“Us?” Sengoku blinked at him in alarm.

“They’re our roommates.” Kajimoto shrugged and got up. “On three.”

Sengoku scrambled to his feet.

“One, two, three.” Kajimoto grabbed Kirihara by the scruff of the neck and yanked him, flailing, back off Kamio. Sengoku tackled Kamio back down to the ground at the same time and sat on him so he couldn’t resume the fight.

“Let me go,” Kirihara snarled and tried to pull free of Kajimoto’s grasp.

“Let me at him!” Kamio squirmed under Sengoku.

It seemed to be the only thing they could agree on.

“Okay,” Kajimoto said wearily. “We’ve all given you plenty of opportunities to behave like adults, and you’ve failed epically every time. Honestly, it’s not that long a camp. Can’t you two be civil for just a couple of weeks?”

Kirihara sulked, and Kamio scowled.

“We’re going to have to do this the hard way,” Sengoku decided.

“Why am I not surprised?” Kajimoto agreed. “A little help?”

Oishi, Kikumaru, Shishido, Ohtori, Momoshiro, and Echizen had all been sitting back, enjoying the spectacle. Now, though, Kikumaru, Shishido, and Echizen immediately pretended that they were too busy doing whatever they were doing to help out. Oishi, Ohtori, and Momoshiro all leapt at that chance, though, so it all worked out.

“I’ll go get the duct tape,” Momoshiro announced and ran from the room.

“I’ll take this side,” Oishi decided, “and you do that one.”

Ohtori nodded in agreement.

Now that the danger of actual work was over, Kikumaru, Shishido, and Echizen watched in fascination.

Momoshiro returned a minute later with two industrial-sized rolls of duct tape. He handed one to Oishi and one to Ohtori.

Kirihara’s eyes widened. “Hey, what are you guys doing?”

Kamio tried to struggle, but Sengoku refused to let him up.

“Until you two learn,” Kajimoto said darkly, “this is how we’re going to do things.”

Kirihara gulped. Kamio’s eyes widened.

“Boys?” Kajimoto said. “Get to it.”

Oishi and Ohtori both grabbed the sticky end of their duct tape, stuck it to the floor at opposite corners of the room, and began to unroll it toward each other, until they’d created a gray line of duct tape that bisected the room along the diagonal. Kajimoto held Kirihara on one side of the line, and Sengoku sat on Kamio on the other side.

“Just like our doubles’ technique,” Momoshiro grinned at Echizen.

Echizen snorted and rolled his eyes.

“There,” Kajimoto concluded. “You two have to stay on your own sides. Will that be a problem?” He fixed Kirihara with an icy glare.

Kirihara wisely shook his head.

“Whatever,” Kamio complained. “Just get _off_ me!”

Kajimoto and Sengoku exchanged a look and a nod, and they let their respective roommates go. Kirihara and Kamio straightened themselves out, mostly from the fight earlier, and then Kamio huffed off in one corner with his headphones and Kirihara stuck up his nose in the far corner and returned to his tennis magazine.

“We might just be geniuses,” Sengoku considered the newly-pacified common room.

Kajimoto allowed a hesitant nod.

Of course, it only lasted about five minutes.

“I _see_ you poking the line with your toe!” Kamio accused. “Stay on your own side!”

“The line is no one’s side,” Kirihara smirked. “I can touch it however much I want.”

“Well, then I guess there’s no rule against me doing _this_!” Kamio hurled a couch cushion at Kirihara’s head.

Kirihara ducked. “Hey!” he protested.

“What?” Kamio taunted him. “I never left my side!”

Kajimoto and Sengoku exchanged a weary sigh.

“I guess there really _is_ only room for one of them here,” Sengoku concluded.

“So it would seem,” Kajimoto agreed and was hit right in the face by Kirihara’s flying shoe.

***

Do the Roommate Shuffle: Twinfighting

“Well, I happen to _like_ my haircut,” Atsushi insisted.

“It makes you look _boring_ ,” Ryo retorted.

“Wow,” Oshitari watched and snagged a handful of popcorn from the bowl in Atobe’s lap.

At that, Atsushi snapped. “At least I don’t look like a _girl_.”

Ryo’s eyes widened, and his cheeks flushed. “I-I do _not_ ,” he stammered.

“Amazing…” Atobe breathed, popping a kernel into his mouth.

“Yes, you do,” Atsushi couldn’t back down on his insult once he’d started it. It was one of the fundamental laws of brotherhood.

“Well, at least I didn’t _cry_ at the end of Death Note.”

“Brother fights are always the best entertainment,” Oshitari commented. He snagged more popcorn.

“Oh yeah, well, who wet the bed at summer camp when we were _nine_?”

“So, you were the one who needed _a month_ of lessons before you could get an overhand serve over the net.”

“They always know the best dirt on each other,” Atobe agreed.

“At least I don’t kiss my Federer poster to sleep every night. Ryo’s in _love_.”

Ryo sputtered. “That’s just for _luck_.”

“Yes,” Kabaji seconded.

“ _Sure_ , it is. Not only do you look like a girl, but you act like one, too.”

“That’s _it_!” Ryo exclaimed. “I can’t take it anymore. You’ve been acting like a _dick_ ever since you switched schools.”

“Come on, catfight,” Oshitari chanted under his breath. “Catfight, catfight…”

“ _I’ve_ been a dick?” Atsushi demanded. “You’ve always acted like you owned me. Well, guess what? I’m my own person, and I won’t let you order me around anymore.”

“If you hate me that much, then why don’t you run away and move out _again_?” Ryo retorted snottily. “After all, that seems to be the only thing you can do right.”

“Lean in just a _little_ bit closer,” Atobe pleaded.

“Fine, then, I will,” Atsushi huffed.

“Yeah, right,” Ryo huffed back. “I dare you.”

“The great thing about twins making out is that it’s like watching someone have sex with themselves,” Oshitari sighed wistfully.

“Fine, then. You should give me three good reasons to stay, or I’m leaving,” Atsushi threatened.

“Like I’d want you around anyway,” Ryo retorted.

Atobe let out a longing little moan. “I’d have sex with me in a heartbeat.”

“Yes,” Kabaji and Oshitari agreed together, rather ambiguously. They both reached into Atobe’s lap at the exact same time…for more popcorn, of course.

“I’m gone, then,” Atsushi announced, turning his back on Ryo.

“Fine.” Ryo’s glare turned toward the fascinated Hyotei audience. “You, there.” He pointed to Oshitari. “You still need a roommate, right?”

“Uh?” Oshitari’s head was still filled with visions of certain people making out with themselves, with him in the middle.

“Good,” Ryo concluded with a satisfied smirk. “Oshitari’s my roommate now. We’re going to have the _best_ time.”

“Oh, yeah?” Atsushi concluded. “Well, then, I’ll move in with Wakato. I hear he does a perfect imitation of you…being a _dick_!”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“It’s over, then.”

“Done.”

“I’m never talking to you again.”

“Great, because I don’t want to ever talk to _you_ again, either.”

“Let’s go to bed, Oshitari,” Ryo turned on his heel to leave.

“Unfortunately, he doesn’t mean it in the good way,” Oshitari sighed and got up off the couch. At least he was spared from the weird stain this evening.

“Lucky bastard,” Atobe teased.

Oshitari glared at him and headed off after Ryo back to his dorm room.

“So, that’s your half of the room,” Ryo informed him once he had shut the door behind them. “Try to keep it clean.”

“All right…” Oshitari said and lay back on the bed. He let out a long, relaxing sigh.

“And be quiet,” Ryo ordered.

Oshitari blinked. “Sure.” He shifted over onto his side.

“I said _quiet_ ,” Ryo complained.

Across the hall, things were proceeding roughly the same way with Wakato and Atsushi.

“I can hear you turning the pages!” Atsushi complained. “And something on your side of the room smells.”

Wakato tried not to bang his head on the wall.

Back in Ryo and Oshitari’s room, Oshitari was finally getting fed up. “What can I do that _won’t_ disturb you?” he finally demanded.

Ryo considered him for a second. “Don’t you think Atsushi’s just being a whiny baby, ditching me like this?”

Oshitari sighed wearily.

“He’s _always_ like this,” Ryo insisted. “He’s so touchy about _everything_. Like, whenever I suggest we do anything, of course I’m ordering him around. But when he does it? If I say anything, that just means that I don’t respect him, and blah-blah-blah, and…”

Oshitari tuned right out.

Across the hall, Wakato was doing the same.

“He thinks he’s the boss of me, just because he’s, like, _two minutes_ older,” Atsushi whined. “Like that makes any difference whatsoever. Hell, for all we know, the nurses accidentally switched us up in the delivery room, and _I’m_ the older one. It’s not like anyone could tell.”

Wakato began to go into a boredom-induced coma.

“And it’s always _my_ fault,” Ryo concluded with a huff back in the other room.

“How, uh, terrible for you,” Oshitari tried to sound sympathetic.

“Terrible?” Ryo blinked at him. “Are you calling Atsushi terrible?”

“Uh…” Oshitari was very confused.

“How dare you smack-talk about my brother!” Ryo glared.

“I didn’t say anything!” Oshitari insisted. “I was just agreeing with you.”

“Humph,” Ryo sulked and looked at Oshitari suspiciously.

Across the hall, Wakato unwisely said, “He sounds like a control freak.”

“Hey!” Atsushi complained. “That’s my _brother_ you’re talking about!”

“Uh… Huh?” Wakato blinked.

“That’s it!” Ryo announced.

“I can’t stand this anymore!” Atsushi leapt to his feet.

In perfect unison, they flung open the doors to their respective rooms.

“I’ve got three reasons for you!” Ryo announced. “One: Oshitari.” He pointed back to where Oshitari sat, bewildered, on the bed.

“Well, I’ve got one, too,” Atsushi agreed. “Two: Wakato.” Wakato looked equally perplexed.

“And three,” Ryo concluded.

“The only other option,” Atsushi began.

“Is…” they said in unison.

Amane was watching all of this from his doorway at the end of the hall. “Yeah, you don’t want to room with me,” he agreed. “You two are a _twin_ ning couple.” He snorted at his own joke.

Ryo and Atsushi shuddered in unison.

“Let’s be roommates again, okay?” Ryo offered.

“Okay,” Atsushi agreed. “I know! I can braid my ribbon into your hair.”

“Okay,” Ryo agreed.

Somehow, Oshitari managed to get shoved out of their room, and the door slammed behind them.

“Twins,” Wakato blinked in disbelief.

“So weird,” Oshitari agreed.

“That’s what happens when two people get so inter _twin_ ned,” Amane snorted.

Wakato gave him a disgusted look and slammed his door shut again.

Oshitari sighed wearily. Down the hall lay the lumpy, stained couch and more mocking commentary from Atobe. There was really only one thing to do: be brave. “Look,” Oshitari said wearily to Amane, “I’ve tried rooming with everyone else, and I don’t want to sleep on the couch again. Can I be your roommate?”

Amane considered this for a second. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Oshitari winced and waited for it. Waited… Waited…

“I should warn you, though,” Amane scratched his head, “I snore.”

Oshitari kept waiting. Finally, he opened his eyes at Amane. “No pun?” he finally demanded in disbelief.

Amane snorted and rolled his eyes. “You don’t actually believe I talk entirely in puns all the time, do you?”

“Well…” Oshitari couldn’t remember Amane saying anything _else_ at camp so far.

“That’s just a safety measure,” Amane assured him.

“A safety measure?” Oshitari asked skeptically and stepped into Amane’s room.

“Otherwise,” Amane agreed, “I might end up having to room with one of _those_ nuts.”

“My thoughts in a _nuts_ hell,” Oshitari snorted.

Amane snorted back.

Back in their room, Ryo and Atsushi just scowled at the abnormal amount of snorting occurring down the hall.

***

The High Life: A Brief Mystery

Tezuka stood outside the door to the coaches’ office and coughed pointedly. Inside, shuffling and swearing could be heard. Tezuka sighed and glanced at his watch. The time was 7:56 AM. They didn’t have much longer. He reached out and rapped his knuckles on the door.

“Breakfast is almost over. We need to start practice.”

Louder swearing sounded, and then Hanamura accused, “This is all _your_ fault!”

“I don’t know where the hell I put them,” Sakaki sighed wearily.

Tezuka knocked again for good measure, in case they somehow hadn’t heard him.

“Oh, come on in, already,” Hanamura snapped.

Tezuka braced himself and stepped inside. “It’s almost eight,” he informed them and glanced around the office. All the drawers in the file cabinets were wide open, and papers were strewn everywhere. Tezuka’s eyes widened. “Did—?”

Hanamura finished for him. “Sakaki lose all the player evaluation files? Why, yes, he did.”

Sakaki fixed her with an unamused stare. “I left them on the desk yesterday afternoon, where we always put them.”

“I thought you just said you didn’t know where you put them?” Hanamura smiled at him viciously.

Sakaki scowled. “Someone must have taken them.”

Hanamura’s eyes widened. “Well, it certainly wasn’t _me_.”

“There are three keys to this office,” Sakaki said succinctly. “Yours, mine, and Ryuzaki’s, which Tezuka is currently in possession of. I know that _I_ didn’t take them. The suspects are you and Tezuka. Do the math.”

Tezuka did the math and very pointedly did not meet either of their eyes.

Hanamura smiled sweetly. “Oh, I did,” she promised, “and the obvious solution is that you’re _lying_. Either you lost them, or you took them yourself.”

Tezuka took a cautious step back out the door.

“Why would I take them?” Sakaki demanded.

“To give Hyotei’s players an advantage,” Hanamura concluded smugly.

Sakaki let out a bored sigh. “That doesn’t make any sense. If I wanted to do that, I could just _tell_ them the contents of the files.”

Tezuka took another step.

“Well, then, why would _I_ steal them?” Hanamura demanded, hands on hips.

“Obviously to feed them into your ridiculous coordination models,” Sakaki said smugly.

Tezuka bolted for it while neither of them was looking. In the distance, he could hear Hanamura’s next burst of outrage. He headed for the courts because, while the list of suspects was nearly endless, all the people who could do anything about it would be diligently practicing already.

Sure enough, Oishi was on A-Court when he arrived, demonstrating some kind of formation for Kikumaru in his notebook.

Tezuka coughed pointedly.

Oishi looked up and handed Kikumaru his notes to study before he jogged over to Tezuka. “Are we ready to begin practice?” he asked eagerly.

Tezuka’s eyes darted around. The coast seemed to be clear. He was grateful, not for the first time, that Inui wasn’t in his group. “Someone took the player files from the coaches’ office last night. One of the only three keys was sitting on my desk.”

Oishi’s eyes widened as he put two and two together. “I-I didn’t see anything, but… Tezuka, that could have been _anyone_.”

“Was it anyone in _this_ group?” Tezuka demanded.

Oishi bit his lip. “I can’t really see it… Kirihara, maybe? Although I don’t want to accuse him. And, really, I have no reason to accuse him. Honestly, I can’t imagine _anyone_ —”

“Just keep your eyes open,” Tezuka ordered.

Oishi nodded.

Tezuka grimaced and headed over to F-Court. F-Court had all the ball machines set up today. There were only two in use, however. Shinjoh was on the far side of the court, seemingly oblivious to all else around him. Atobe had grabbed the nearest machine and seemed to be doing some mildly concerning precision training that involved the far left corner. For a moment, Tezuka was too absorbed in trying to decipher Atobe’s attack to continue with his mission. However, even tennis had to wait for some things.

Tezuka headed pointedly for Atobe’s ball machine. He knew Atobe saw him, because Atobe never missed these things, but Atobe didn’t break his stride once until Tezuka had flicked the machine off.

Atobe snorted with amusement at him and walked over to his water bottle. Tezuka followed after him.

“Miss me?” Atobe teased after he’d taken a deep, satisfying drink.

Tezuka snorted. “I need your, er,” his eyes flicked off to the side, “assistance.”

“Tezuka, you know anything I can give is yours,” Atobe smirked.

Tezuka sighed. It was too early for Atobe. “Someone took the files from the coaches’ office last night. They must’ve gotten the key from my room.”

“Well,” Atobe drawled thoughtfully, “ _I_ certainly wasn’t in your room last night because of any key.”

Tezuka fought against the twitching of his lips. Atobe seemed to notice it anyway.

“What’s really fascinating here is that you’ve come to me about this,” Atobe considered.

“I need you to make sure it wasn’t anyone in your group,” Tezuka said blandly.

“Ah, of course.” A devilish glint lit up Atobe’s eyes. “But still, who would really want to take such things? Data players, I would think. All of whom are in Sanada’s group. Yet you came to me first. Like I said: fascinating.”

Damn Atobe and his perceptiveness.

“So I’m back to my original question,” Atobe concluded. “Miss me?”

Tezuka snorted and walked off. He couldn’t completely conceal the red in his cheeks, however.

Sanada’s group, if Tezuka recalled correctly (and he did), was in the weight room first thing that morning. Tezuka knew he was on to something when he arrived at the weight room and not even _Sanada_ was training yet. Clearly, something was amiss with the universe.

There weren’t many places a group of nine teenage boys could disappear to, however, and Tezuka soon tracked them back to the cafeteria, which they’d never left.

“Where did you get that?” Sanada was glaring, with fists clenched. So far, nothing was unusual.

“Listen to this,” Mizuki smirked and held out a manila folder in front of him to read. _Aha!_ “‘Sanada Genichiro’s obsessive discipline clearly derives from his displaced homoerotic desires—’”

“ _What_?” Sanada bellowed and lunged for him. Pages went flying in the ensuing shuffle.

Tezuka paid little attention to where Sanada now had a screaming Mizuki in a headlock. He caught both Inui and Yanagi’s hands instants before they could descend upon the fallen pages. “Gentlemen,” he said calmly, “I believe those belong back in the coaches’ office?”

Inui’s face fell.

Yanagi sniffled a little.

Tezuka fixed them with his sternest stare.

“Of course,” Inui finally agreed slowly. “Our own notes are far superior anyway, I’m sure.”

“Agreed,” Yanagi said, sounding equally disheartened. “After all, they’re only detailed reports written by experienced, professional coaches.”

They both whimpered in unison at the loss.

“Here, let me help you with that.” Fuji bent down beside Tezuka and helped him pick up the pages.

Saeki soon joined them.

Kawamura, Yuta, and Kaidoh all stood around watching Mizuki begging for mercy, debating whether they should intervene to save his life.

“I think Mizuki was trying to impress Inui and Yanagi,” Saeki surmised.

“So he took the key from my suite last night,” Tezuka agreed.

Fuji smiled. “He also got all Sakaki’s data on me. He quoted it to me this morning.” He handed the papers he’d collected to Tezuka.

“Oh?” Saeki asked curiously and handed over his own papers. “What did it say?”

“Apparently,” Fuji tapped his chin in thought, “that I have a hot ass.”

Tezuka made it a point not to stick around after that. He snuck back into the building where the coaches were housed. In the meantime, Hanamura and Sakaki’s argument had migrated to the break room, and they were now tearing _that_ up in the hopes that Sakaki had left the files there.

Tezuka slipped surreptitiously past the open door and returned to the office. He let himself in with his key and set the stack of papers down on the end table, just behind a potted fern, where conceivably Sakaki and Hanamura might have missed them earlier.

Tezuka was about to leave, but froze with his hand still hovering over the files. Glancing quickly behind him, he determined there was no danger. He flipped to Fuji’s page. It most certainly did _not_ say that he had a hot ass. With that confirmed, he flipped to Sanada’s. There at the top, in Coach Sakaki’s crisp, elegant writing were the words, _“Sanada Genichiro’s obsessive discipline clearly derives from his displaced homoerotic desires, combined with his severe issues of inadequacy.”_

Tezuka tried not to smirk and flipped the file back shut. Then he called down the hall, “I think I’ve found them!”

Sakaki and Hanamura came running, glaring at each other all the while.

“Ah, see!” Sakaki insisted. “I told you I left them here. You must have been blind to miss them.”

“Me?” Hanamura growled. “You were supposed to leave them on the _desk_.”

Tezuka flipped open a tennis magazine and pretended to read it, while humming to himself under his breath. Needless to say, it never occurred to either of them to blame _him_.

***

The Five Trials of Sanada Genichiro: Going for Broke

Sanada glared down at his hand: ace, king, queen, jack, ten. Then he looked up at Fuji. Fuji was smiling beatifically. Sanada grumbled under his breath, pulled his hat down further over his eyes, and considered his options.

It was true that Fuji was evil incarnate and had unholy luck. Sanada had seen Yanagi’s calculations, and it was the only reasonable explanation for half the occurrences that surrounded Fuji. Clearly, diabolical forces were at work in Fuji’s favor.

However, Sanada felt quite capable of himself and his hand. He could win this. Carefully, he made his decision and ground out, “Got any aces?”

Fuji smiled wider. “Go fish.”

Sanada swore under his breath and drew from the deck. He got a worthless four. He glared at it, but no matter how much glaring he did, it didn’t turn into anything useful.

“Got any kings?” Fuji asked in response.

Sanada cursed some more and handed it over.

Fuji put down the pair and claimed two more of the coins in the pot. “Your turn.”

At that point, Saeki wandered in. “Are you two _still_ playing?” he asked in disbelief. He gave Sanada a clap on the shoulder. “Just give it up, man. You’re _never_ going to beat him.”

“I won’t if I _slack off_ like you suggest,” Sanada snarled at him.

Saeki help up his hands in apology and sat back to watch. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I think this sort of betting is supposed to be done with poker instead.”

Fuji nodded in agreement. “We were playing that, but Sanada insisted that the fact that I had more experience was giving me an unfair advantage. So we switched to this.”

Saeki snickered behind his hand.

“Got any jacks?” Sanada finally asked.

“Go fish.”

Sanada grumbled and picked up an eight.

“Got any tens?” Fuji smiled.

Sanada fixed him with a suspicious look and checked surreptitiously over his shoulder. There were no reflective surfaces behind him, and he _knew_ the deck wasn’t rigged because it was Mizuki’s deck and Sanada had shuffled it. Of course, Sanada wouldn’t put it entirely past Mizuki to have a rigged deck, but he would never conspire with _Fuji_ , of all people, about it. If anything, he’d be conspiring _against_ Fuji.

The only explanation was Fuji’s unholy luck. Sanada forked over his ten.

Fuji put down the pair and took two _more_ coins from the pot. Fuji only had two cards left, before he won it all.

“Eights?” Sanada guessed.

“Go fish!” Fuji beamed.

Sanada barely restrained the urge to give him twenty laps for _smugness_. However, Sanada would secretly have known that those laps were _really_ for beating him, and that was just unacceptable.

Sanada got a five.

“Any fives?” Fuji asked brightly.

Sanada swore and practically _threw_ the freshly-drawn card at him.

“With my luck today, I should play Sengoku,” Fuji teased. He only had one card left now.

Sanada glared at it, at Fuji, and at his own meager stack of pairs. Even if he guessed the card right, he would still lose the game. However, at this point, it wasn’t about winning anymore. It was about just guessing _one_ damn card correctly. It shouldn’t have been physically possible for all of Sanada’s pairs to be lucky draws, but they _were_. Just _once_ he wanted to see Fuji fork a card over instead of smiling and pedantically telling him to “go fish.”

“I want a queen,” he finally stated.

Saeki snorted into his hand.

Fuji’s lips quirked. “Go fish.”

Sanada got a six. He was pretty sure it was statistically impossible to have such a random assortment of cards in his hand.

Fuji tapped his final card with the tip of his index fingers. “Got any twos?”

“No!” Sanada practically laughed aloud. “Go fish.”

Fuji’s smile widened, and he reached out and picked up the top card from the deck. “Oh, lucky me, it’s my two,” he said happily, showing the final pair to Sanada.

Sanada tried not to wail _too_ much in despair when the entire pot went into Fuji’s very large collection.

“So, should we call it a night?” Fuji suggested, eying Sanada’s two-hundred remaining yen.

Sanada gritted his teeth and bared it. “One more game.”

Fuji blinked at him. “You don’t have enough to play…”

“Then you put in the same, and winner takes all,” Sanada insisted.

Saeki groaned. “Just give up while you still have the two-hundred yen,” he advised.

“Slacker!” Sanada accused him.

Saeki rolled his eyes and went off to see what the sane people were doing. Watching Sanada lose was funny at first, but after a while it was just painful.

“If that’s what you want…” Fuji finally said carefully. He put in two-hundred yen as well.

He moved to reshuffle, but Sanada took the cards from him. “ _I’m_ shuffling.”

“Whatever you like,” Fuji agreed.

Sanada dealt and swore when he saw that he didn’t have any pairs in his opening hand.

Fuji smiled and put down a pair of threes…and a pair of nines… _and_ a pair of jacks. “I’d forgotten just how much fun this game is,” he told Sanada over his one remaining card.

Sanada gritted his teeth and _stared_ at that one card. He really didn’t care. He just had to beat Fuji, just _once_. “Aces?” he guessed hopefully.

Fuji paused, stared down at his card, and then looked quickly up at Sanada. His eyes blinked open in surprise, and the smile dropped from his face.

Sanada held his breath.

And then Fuji smiled again. “Just kidding! Go fish.” The instant Sanada had drawn, he asked, “Any fours?”

Of course, Sanada did.

“I demand a rematch,” he insisted, even though Fuji now held all the coins and he was left with nothing.

Fuji considered him for a moment, like a cat might consider its struggling prey, and then he tossed Sanada a pity coin. “Just because you’re so pretty,” Fuji teased.

Sanada blushed but dealt again anyway…

It wasn’t until three in the morning that Yanagi finally awoke to Sanada slinking back into their room.

“Genichiro?” he asked blearily.

“Go back to bed,” Sanada ordered.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“I know,” Sanada grumbled. “Just go to sleep.”

“And why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”

“Shut _up_!” Sanada growled.

Yanagi wisely did and went back to sleep with a smirk.


	5. Chapter 5

The Legend of Sakuno the Brave: Apotheosis

Ryuzaki tried not to wince at the high-pitched squeals as her hospital room was inundated by perky, hyperactive children.

“Are you okay, Coach Ryuzaki?” Kachiro worried.

“We brought you these flowers,” Katsuo hovered.

“I personally had the entire team sign this card for you,” Horio boasted.

“And I made inspirational posters!” Tomoka announced cheerfully. She held up a large sign that said, “Get better, Coach Ryuzaki!” For no apparent reason, it had Echizen’s face right in the middle, surrounded by hearts.

“Uh, thanks,” Ryuzaki blinked at the very bizarre poster before her.

“We’re all very relieved that you’re going to be all right,” Ann said politely, after Tomoka had paraded the poster around for all to see.

“W-We were worried about you,” Dan stuttered and blushed. “Everyone was.”

Ryuzaki put on her best smile. “Well, I trust that all of you have taken care of things while I’ve been out sick.” She didn’t bother to clarify that, by “all of you,” she actually meant “the other coaches and Tezuka.”

“Don’t worry!” Kachiro said proudly.

“We’ve taken care of _everything_ ,” Katsuo agreed.

“I oversaw it all myself, personally,” Horio thumped his chest.

Ryuzaki started to get seriously worried. “Uh, hey, where’s my granddaughter? I thought she was coming to visit with you…”

“Ah, don’t worry about Sakuno,” Ann reassured her. “She said she had something to do down in the visiting room.”

“She’ll be here any minute, I’m sure,” Tomoka said. “She’s really saved the day!”

“Has she?” Ryuzaki said with a smile.

“Sh-She has!” Dan squeaked. “She saved us _all_!”

“I’m sure she has,” Ryuzaki said, amused in a way that adults had to be around children, or else they would go insane.

“It’s true!” Tomoka insisted. “Tell her, guys!”

And that set off the deluge.

“—Huge, dripping fangs and red demotic eyes!” Horio’s was the first coherent phrase Ryuzaki could distinguish amidst the babble. “And he had an _axe_ , too!”

“Wait,” Ryuzaki blinked. “What? Who?”

“—And when I was frozen in terror, Sakuno leapt in out of nowhere—” Tomoka’s voice rose about the chatter for a moment.

“She did? Huh?”

“—Braved the curse and walked right on through, and even made it past the witch that guarded the gate—” Dan’s voice wafted through.

“Uh… I think I’m missing something here…”

“—And Sakuno was all, ‘Punch, punch, I can take you _all_! We were here first!’” Katsuo explained, while Kachiro acted it out.

“She was _amazing_!” Tomoka concluded.

“She saved all our lives!” Dan sighed wistfully.

“She’s a _hero_!” Kachiro exclaimed.

Katsuo nodded vigorously.

“Of course, I totally could’ve done it all, if she hadn’t been there,” Horio added as an afterthought.

“I…see…” Ryuzaki sighed wearily.

Fortunately, at that moment, Sakuno decided to enter, cradling a steaming cup in her hands. All eyes turned to her, and she blushed at the sudden attention. “Y-Yes?” she asked, looking around between them all anxiously.

Ann pressed her palms into Kachiro and Katsuo’s backs and pushed them toward the door. “Come on, guys. Let’s let Sakuno visit with her grandmother in peace.”

“Hey, hey, _ow_!” Horio complained as Tomoka led him out, too, except by his ear.

“We’re all very happy to see you’re all right, Coach Ryuzaki,” Dan said on the way out. “Good-bye!” He squeaked and shut the door behind him.

Ryuzaki and Sakuno blinked at the mass exodus.

“So,” Ryuzaki said slowly, “what _were_ those wild stories they were telling all about?”

Sakuno blushed and shook her head. “They _told_ you all that stuff?” she sighed, embarrassed.

“Hey, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. If I heard correctly, it sounded like you beat Kabaji single-handed in arm-wrestling,” Ryuzaki chuckled.

Sakuno shook her head vigorously. “They might be exaggerating just a little.”

“A little,” Ryuzaki smirked. “What _actually_ happened?”

“I told Atobe-san about the pots rusting, typed a few words, opened a rusty gate, and then bought some squash,” Sakuno summarized succinctly.

Ryuzaki tried hard not to laugh. “Now, _that_ I can believe.”

Sakuno smiled wryly back up at her.

“What is that you have there?” Ryuzaki finally asked curiously, gesturing to the cup in Sakuno’s hands.

“Oh!” Sakuno squeaked, suddenly remembering what she’d brought. “Here,” she handed the steaming cup over. “I brought some of your favorite tea. I figured the hospital tea wouldn’t be…er…”

“Fit for human consumption?” Ryuzaki suggested, then breathed a sigh of relief at the spicy scent of herbs wafting from the cup. She took a tentative sip, even though the cup was still too hot to drink: pure heaven. “Sakuno?” Ryuzaki finally said with a small smile.

“Hmm?”

“You _are_ a hero.”

Sakuno blushed but managed a small smile back. “I know,” she giggled.

***

The Kirihara/Kamio Wars: The Final Frontier

“Well, now that that’s settled…” Oishi glanced to the two opposite corners of the room.

Over the last week, the line of duct tape in the center of the common room had been deemed insufficient, and there were now _two_ lines, each locking Kirihara and Kamio in opposite corners. There was always a bit of a scuffle at first, while they threw every projectile they could get their hands on, but eventually they ran out.

“Let’s watch a movie!” Kikumaru suggested brightly when no further projectiles presented themselves.

“That sounds good,” Kajimoto said warily, looking back and forth from where Kamio was glaring at Kirihara in one corner to where Kirihara was glaring at Kamio in the other. With a sigh, he sat down on the couch beside Sengoku.

“What do we want to watch?” Momoshiro asked, scrolling through the rather massive list of pirated movies on his computer.

“Something less boring than _last_ time,” Echizen said smugly and pulled his cap down over his eyes.

Momoshiro glared at him.

“Ooh, ooh!” Kikumaru said. “How about something fun and cute?”

Shishido made gagging noises.

“I like romances,” Ohtori suggested.

 _Everyone_ blinked at him in horror.

“I, uh, don’t have any romances,” Momoshiro quickly assured the group.

“Let’s have some action,” Sengoku requested.

“With guns and lasers?” Shishido perked up for the first time.

“Explosions in space!” Kajimoto suggested excitedly.

Momoshiro scrolled through his file. “Uh…space? I’ve got, um, ‘Star Trek.’”

“Doesn’t that have lasers?” Kikumaru asked.

“Echizen, you’re from America,” Oishi pointed out. “You’ll know.”

Echizen just glared at him. “All I know is that it doesn’t have _tennis_.”

Kamio stopped glaring at Kirihara long enough to butt in. “It depends. Which Star Trek is it?”

Momoshiro blinked. “It just says: ‘Star Trek.’”

“Well,” Kamio sighed wearily, “how long is it? Is it movie-length?”

Momoshiro checked the file. “Yes.”

“Then it’s probably either the first one or the last one,” Kamio decided.

Kirihara was busy sulking, but he finally stirred to life at that. “I am _not_ watching ‘Nemesis’ again,” he complained.

Kamio shuddered in agreement. “It should’ve ended with ‘All Good Things…’”

Kirihara’s eyes lit up. “I know, right? Because ‘First Contact’ was fun enough at the time, but they were just screwing the Borg over, so that no one could object when Voyager ruined them.”

“Exactly!” Kamio agreed. “‘Generations’ was a bust. They just wanted to destroy the old model, so they could replace everything with crappy CGI.”

“CGI _worked_ in DS9; it did _not_ work with the Enterprise.”

“And ‘Insurrection’ _might_ have been an okay episode, but it was _so_ dragged out as a movie.”

“I would rather have had ‘Insurrection’ end it than ‘Nemesis.’”

“God, yes!”

“Although ‘All Good Things…’ was still the best ending.”

“Yeah, I don’t know why they had to trash a perfectly good series ending with crappy movies.”

“It wasn’t like TOS, where the show’s life got cut short.”

“Right! There was still DS9.”

“And even Voyager had _some_ good moments.”

“But let us never, ever speak of Enterprise.”

Kirihara shuddered.

Everyone else _gaped_.

“Uh… What do we do?” Kajimoto asked.

“Back away slowly?” Sengoku suggested.

“I think I liked them better before,” Shishido decided when a lively debate about the relative merits of TNG and DS9 started.

“What a pair of weirdoes,” Momoshiro agreed, like they’d been totally normal before.

As one, the rest of the group fled the lounge that had now been rendered unbearable by two very unexpected fonts of geek-knowledge.

“Oh my god!” Kirihara exclaimed. “I should link you to my blog. I complained _so much_ about the Voyager finale!”

“I didn’t even like the DS9 one,” Kamio agreed. “Quick, what’s your cell phone number? We totally have to go see the new movie together.”

“We do!” Kirihara agreed. “And I want to borrow your DS9 DVDs some day. I have to rewatch the whole war arc straight.”

“It’s the best!” Kamio smiled back at him.

The next day, they were suddenly the best of friends.

“This is _creepy_!” Sengoku complained.

“Please, make them stop!” Kajimoto whined.

“Will you two _knock it off_ already?” Shishido demanded.

Kirihara and Kamio just blinked at them.

“Have you guys ever considered getting help for your anger management problems?” Kamio suggested.

“Yeah, we’re all practically adults here. Chill,” Kirihara agreed.

It was the final straw, and many very loud “ow”s were heard as the rest of the group descended upon them.

***

Do the Roommate Shuffle: The _Pun_ Is Mightier than the _Word_

“—can shove it up your ass,” Amane chuckled and sporfled to himself. “So then _I_ said, ‘If it was up your ass, you’d know where it was.’”

Oshitari snickered into his soup. “Well, one time,” he began, “Gakuto was—”

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Atobe announced breezily and settled right down beside Oshitari, so close that their thighs were brushing.

Oshitari blinked over at him. “Atobe,” he greeted, “to what do we owe the _honor_ of your presence?”

Atobe was oblivious to all snide tones when they came attached to compliments to his person, however. “I was just thinking to myself that I hadn’t seen my dear friend Oshitari much this camp, and he must simply be _wasting_ away without my charm and grace to entertain him,” Atobe answered and slung an affectionate arm around Oshitari’s shoulders.

Amane blinked.

Oshitari’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “What do you want?” he demanded.

“What?” Atobe’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “Moi? I have no clue what you could possibly be talking about.”

Oshitari gave him a suspicious look, glanced over to the dinner line, then spotted Kabaji sitting across from Shinjoh alone at a table at the far end of the room. They seemed to be entertaining each other or, at least, they were in each other’s vicinity while neither of them was talking or acknowledging the other’s existence. For Kabaji and Shinjoh, that was probably entertaining.

Finally, Oshitari shrugged and returned to his meal. “Didn’t get the fish today, I notice,” he commented smugly.

Atobe glared at him. “No, I prefer the chicken.”

Amane had no clue what all the tension was about, but he was more than happy to butt in at that. “Think of the poor chickens, though. I just don’t think they’ll be able to _recoup_!” He snorted.

Atobe’s eyes widened at him in horror.

Oshitari snickered.

Atobe’s eyes widened at _him_ in horror. “Such a delightful roommate you have. How ever do you cope?”

Oshitari smirked and let Amane take it away.

“He could always call the _cops_ on me!” Amane snorted.

Atobe blinked for a few seconds. “What? That doesn’t even make any sense!” he insisted, outraged. “They don’t even sound similar.”

Amane just _grinned_ at him.

“A proper pun,” Atobe explained, “should at least be based off homophones. Similar spelling doesn’t cut it.”

Amane’s eyes glittered with unholy light. Oshitari thought for one second about the word ‘homophones’ and waved Amane off. After all, he liked Amane and didn’t want a real fight to break out. Instead, Amane just snickered to himself.

“What?” Atobe demanded.

Oshitari snickered, too.

Dinner went on like that, but Atobe continued to put up with it, which was how Oshitari _knew_ Atobe was going to hit him up for a favor any second now. Atobe followed them back to the dorms, chatting amiably at Oshitari the whole time and, then finally, the bomb dropped.

“Say, Yushi,” Atobe said intimately, “I was thinking about how you’ve been forced to room around this whole camp, and it was rather unfair of me, wasn’t it? So how about you room with me tonight?” He flashed Oshitari a winning, movie-star smile.

Amane frowned at this turn of events.

Oshitari just rolled his eyes. “No,” he insisted, and slammed their door in Atobe’s face.

There was a pause and then violent knocking. Oshitari opened the door.

“Come on, Yushi,” Atobe said apologetically. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise. Just—”

“You said I snore,” Oshitari pointed out.

“Well, yes,” Atobe conceded, “but there are always earplugs for that, and we haven’t talked all week, and—”

“No.” Oshitari slammed the door on him again.

Amane looked at him curiously. “Won’t he get mad at you?” he asked nervously.

“Don’t worry,” Oshitari assured him. “His bark is _way_ worse than his bite, and he doesn’t hold grudges.”

Knocking sounded on the door again. Oshitari opened it one last time.

“All right,” Atobe confessed, “you got me, fair and square. But you _saw_ what Kabaji was eating tonight!”

“Anchovies, wasn’t it?” Oshitari smirked.

“He gets _gassy_ , Yushi,” Atobe pleaded. “And there’s _no escape_ from that!”

“Then I guess you should have thought of that possibility before you made me room with _Ibu_ , of all people,” Oshitari concluded.

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“And Shinjoh.”

“I’m sorry, Yushi.”

“And Wakato.”

“Now, forgive me?”

“And one of those dysfunctional twins. I forget which.”

Atobe batted his eyelashes.

“I forgive you,” Oshitari finally conceded with a sigh. “But the answer is still no.”

Atobe gasped in outrage. “B-But…”

“I happen to _like_ my roommate,” Oshitari explained. “Sorry. You could always try switching with one of the others.”

Atobe scowled at him. “I don’t believe this. Betrayed by one of my own!” he exclaimed melodramatically.

“Betrayed?” Oshitari retorted. “Oh, please. I have been exceptionally, _unquestionably_ loyal to you for my entire stint on the Hyotei team. This hardly qualifies as a knife in the back. Now, go open your window for tonight or something, and let me get some sleep.”

Atobe grumbled, finally resigned to his fate. “Oh, take your loyalty and shove it up your ass.”

Oshitari smirked. “If it was up your ass, at least you’d know where it was.” And he slammed the door on Atobe’s face for the final time.

He and Amane turned to each other and laughed so hard they _hurt_.

***

The High Life: Karma

Because tennis was serious business and camp didn’t come free and this wasn’t a party, Sakaki and Hanamura gave Tezuka homework the last week of camp. First thing the next morning, Tezuka caught the two of them with a pointed “ahem.”

“Ah,” Hanamura said with a smile, “you’ve finished your report?”

“Yes,” Tezuka agreed. “Is now convenient?”

“By all means,” Sakaki said in a bored tone, sprawled over the sofa.

Tezuka pushed his glasses up his nose and began to read from the paper he held before him. “To me, coaching centers on one fundamental principal: karma.”

Sakaki raised an eyebrow.

“Every player, at one point, was taught their skills. Hours of training and many coaches form the basis of each player’s skills. Coaching itself is, thus, the completion of the circle. What a player receives, he eventually gives back in the form of coaching future generations.”

Hanamura scratched her head.

“One is only truly skilled as a player through their ability to relate their knowledge to others, and one is only truly skilled as a coach through their ability to relate to the challenges a player faces when attempting to perfect their game. In the end teaching – coaching – is the greatest form of achievement because it demonstrates that a player has truly come full-circle and learned the game inside out.”

Sakaki checked his Rolex.

“And it is this meaning of karma, not the moralistic one, to which I refer. The player gets back from the coach that which the coach once received as a player. The coach gets back from his players that which furthers his own goals as a player.” Tezuka cleared his throat again. “Thank you.”

Hanamura blinked. “A very…interesting interpretation,” she commented.

“Quite satisfactory,” Sakaki agreed. “You can go ahead and start practice now.”

Tezuka gave him a curious look. “You won’t be supervising the morning practice?”

“Ah, no,” Sakaki said evasively. “I have other matters to attend to at the moment.”

Tezuka’s gaze turned to Hanamura.

“Dreadfully important calculations to run on my players’ coordination routines,” she explained. “Could you take the whole group today?”

Tezuka just nodded and went off to do so.

Sakaki and Hanamura gave each other a suspicious look once Tezuka was gone.

“So,” Sakaki said innocently and got up, “I’ll just go work on some schedules right now.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Hanamura agreed, “and I’d better finish my coordination reports.”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

They both went in their separate directions. Of course, as soon as the other was out of sight, they both bolted for the parking lots their respective cars were parked in.

Hanamura patted the discount card on the seat of her shiny new convertible. Today only, _everything_ at the technology expo was 80%, for teachers only. Clearly, she needed to avail herself of all these beautiful gadgets, for the good of mankind. And possibly also those lasers you could mount to the front of your car that didn’t really _do_ anything, but made you _feel_ like you had phasers. True, they’d be a pain to install, but Hanamura could always make Shinjoh do it and convince him it was a test of his fine motor coordination. Shinjoh would buy _anything_ like that. With a smirk, she hit the gas and backed out of the lot.

Sakaki slid into his Porsche, slipped on his sunglasses, and started the engine. It hummed rapturously beneath his careful touch and purred into gear. He checked his hair in the rearview mirror as he jetted out of the lot. After all, this was an exclusive luncheon with some of the wealthiest parents in all of Hyotei (excluding the Atobe family, alas), all of whom wanted nothing more than to thank him for keeping their unruly teenagers away from the more expensive items in their homes while at tennis practice.

As a result, neither Hanamura nor Sakaki were really paying attention while they pulled out of their respective lots, which – coincidentally – happened to be right across from each other.

The following _crunch_ could be heard all the way from the tennis courts, where the practice matches came to a sudden halt at the sound of violent, twisting metal.

“What was that?” Mizuki wondered.

“Oi, oi? It sounds like there was an accident in the parking lot!” Kikumaru announced.

Of course, that set everyone off running to see what happened.

“ _My_ fault?” Sakaki was screeching. “You were driving _backwards_ without even looking where you were going!” The entire front of his Porsche was totaled.

“I had _right of way_!” Hanamura was screeching back, pointing at the rear-end of her convertible, which was now completely flattened. “How could you _possibly_ have missed me? Oh, that’s right: you _didn’t_!”

“Ooh, coach fight!” Saeki said excitedly.

Sanada snorted. “That’s what they get for wasting so much money on frivolous vehicles.”

Tezuka blinked at the collision. “Karma…” he repeated slowly to himself.

“Hmm, what was that?” Atobe asked curiously.

“Oh, nothing,” Tezuka almost smirked. “They just really shouldn’t have let their guards down.”

Atobe snickered.

“All right, everyone!” Tezuka called the students to attention once more. “Fifteen laps, now!”

That was enough to save everyone from gawking all day. There were several groans, but eventually everyone headed off down the path.

Really, Tezuka thought as he kept pace with the back of the group to make sure no one was dawdling, the _most_ important part of being a coach had nothing to do with karma at all. That was the thing none of the other coaches seemed to understand. It was _actually_ all about assigning pointless numbers of laps.

***

The Five Trials of Sanada Genichiro: The Beginning of the End

The final day of camp, Sanada woke up, reached over to his bed stand, and found that his beloved cap was _missing_. He immediately jolted from bed, flew out the door, and – with the unerring precision of a homing beacon – located his cap with the rest of his group in the lounge.

“No, no, _I’m_ Sanada,” Mizuki snickered, put the cap on, and scowled. “A bazillion laps!” he said in a completely failed attempt at a low voice.

“An unimpressive imitation,” Inui commented and scribbled in his notebook. “Excellent data on personal weaknesses.”

Mizuki scowled at him.

“Here, let me,” Saeki snatched the cap from Mizuki’s head and folded his arms over his chest. “Slackers!” he snarled and then completely ruined the effect by bursting out laughing.

“Hey, that was pretty good,” Yuta snickered.

“We’re going to get in trouble…” Kaidoh warned, but he looked more amused than usual, too.

“I think Taka should go next,” Fuji suggested.

Kawamura paled. “This…really isn’t my sort of thing. I—” Fuji shoved a racket into his hand and the cap on his head. “My fire is _burning_ , baby!” Kawamura shouted out and swung the racket around wildly.

 _Everyone_ laughed except for Yanagi, dear old reliable Yanagi who took the cap from Kawamura’s head and…promptly placed it on his _own_ head. “Oh, Captain Yukimura,” he sighed like a _girl_. “You’re so handsome and magnificent at tennis! Assign me laps, captain. Assign me laps _hard_!”

And that was the last straw. Sanada stalked into the lounge, snatched his sacred cap from Yanagi, and _growled_ at them all.

Everyone gulped at took a terrified step backwards. Sanada’s eyes looked like a bull about to charge.

Sanada’s eyes circled the room in threat and then, just as abruptly, he stalked back out without so much as a word.

“Uh…” Saeki blinked. “Were the laps just implied?”

Inui scratched his head. “This behavior defies all data.”

“I _told_ you all this was a bad idea,” Kaidoh worried.

Yanagi’s face turned pale. “I think he may actually be…mad.” The last word came out like a whimper.

“You mean he isn’t _usually_ mad?” Yuta blinked at him in disbelief.

Yanagi shook his head and was actually _trembling_ at the thought.

That was around when the rest of the group got really, seriously worried…

\---

Sanada, for his part, stalked all the way back to his room and snatched up his cell phone. He hit the top button on the speed dial and only had to wait a second for a response. “They _messed with my cap_ ,” he snarled into the receiver. “I need punishments. I need punishments for _everyone_! The more humiliating, the better.”

At the other end, Yukimura’s light, tinkling laughter could be heard. “Oh, what fun! Tee-hee!”

Already Sanada felt better as Yukimura laid out what had to be done.

\---

“Sadaharu?” Yanagi asked after breakfast that morning.

“Mmm?” Inui looked up.

“Have you seen Genichiro today?”

Inui readjusted his glasses. “Ah. You mean, since the, er, _incident_ this morning?”

“Exactly.” Yanagi frowned. “I haven’t seen him since. This isn’t normal for him. I’m concerned. We may have actually taken things too far.”

“Interesting,” Inui considered him, and his fingers inched over toward his notebook.

Yanagi glared at him.

Inui forced himself to stop. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen him. He didn’t come to breakfast at all.”

Yanagi’s frown deepened. “That _definitely_ isn’t like him…”

“Is he still in your room?”

“I, uh, haven’t gone back there yet,” Yanagi confessed. He refused to admit that he was afraid of encountering Sanada away from the safety of multiple witnesses.

Inui just shrugged.

Yanagi left the dining hall and was forced to admit that it was a reasonable suggestion. He’d already checked the courts, and Ryuzaki’s group had run the path that morning and hadn’t seen Sanada there. Yanagi steeled himself up and ventured back to his and Sanada’s shared room. After all, he _was_ one of Rikkaidai’s three demons in his own right (even if Sanada was most certainly a bigger and scarier demon).

Sanada wasn’t in their room, however. Yanagi flicked on the lights to make sure that the lump on Sanada’s bed was just the blanket. That was even more unusual; Sanada was rigorous about making his bed first thing in the morning. Yanagi began to grow seriously concerned, and that was when he noticed the notebook on his bed.

He frowned and reached for it.

 _“Yanagi Renji,”_ the cover read. Yanagi recognized Inui’s handwriting.

His eyes widened in slow realization that this was Inui’s data book on _him_. Voraciously, he flipped it open and began reading. Within mere seconds, he was sputtering in outrage.

“Y-You!” he stormed into Inui and Kaidoh’s room in time to catch them packing before practice.

Kaidoh’s eyes widened in alarm.

“You called me an emotionally-repressed, two-faced _coward_!” Yanagi snarled at Inui.

Inui turned from his bed slowly, the light gleaming off his glasses, to reveal that he, too, held a notebook that had been ‘accidentally’ left on his bed. “Well, _you_ called me a clingy copycat whose former friendship you could exploit to Rikkaidai’s advantage!” Inui snarled right back at him.

“Well, that’s all true,” Yanagi insisted. “But how _dare_ you—”

“How dare _I_?” Inui growled.

Kaidoh’s eyes widened as a fistfight erupted right before him, full of screaming, kicking, and fur flying…well, okay, technically it was hair. Slowly, he backed out of the room. He wanted no part of anything _this_ nasty.

\---

“Yanagi and Inui _both_ got suspended from the finals for fighting?” Mizuki snickered. “How silly of them.” He lugged his bag over his shoulder in preparation for loading it on the bus.

However, at that point, the strategically-placed rip in the side pocket tore open, and several items fell from his bag.

It also just so happened that Fuji was in line behind him at the time.

Fuji looked down at what Mizuki dropped. Mizuki looked, too. Fuji’s eyes widened. Mizuki’s face went ashen.

“What,” Fuji asked in his softest, most angelic voice, “is this?” He bent over to pick up three items: a box of extra-small condoms, a tube of lubricant, and a picture of Yuta.

Mizuki sputtered. “I-I _swear_! Those aren’t mine!”

“Hmm,” Fuji smiled beatifically at him, “and last time we met, I thanked you so _nicely_ for taking such good care of my little brother…”

“I swear to _god_!” Mizuki squeaked. “I’m being set up!”

The only person to witness this exchange was Saeki, but he’d been too busy trying to fit his own oversized bag through his door to catch up to them before they rounded the corner. When he reached where they should have been, they’d vanished into thin air.

No one saw Mizuki for the next two weeks.

When he finally did reappear, he was covered from head to toe in seaweed, had a large tattoo blazoned across his back that he refused to show _anyone_ , and for some reason his voice had jumped an octave. To his dying day, he refused to say what happened to him during those two weeks or even admit that anything had happened _at all_.

Fuji smiled and nodded at him the next time they saw each other at a meet, though, and Mizuki instinctively broke out into a cold sweat and had to lie down in the locker rooms, sick to his stomach.

\---

“Funny about how so many people in your group are disappearing at the last minute,” Kisarazu Ryo said to Saeki when they’d all gathered together at the gym for the close of camp.

“Or is it _punny_?” Amane snorted.

Ryo looked at him disdainfully. “We’ll be home soon, and I’m telling Bane you said that.”

Amane, disturbingly, looked eager about this.

Saeki’s cell phone took that moment to ring, and he blushed when he recognized Aoi’s number.

“Someone has the hots for our freshman captain,” Amane sing-songed and slung a companionable arm around Ryo’s shoulders.

Ryo shoved it right off.

Saeki looked at the text, though, and his face paled. “Wh-What? This is? How did?”

“Huh?” Amane blinked at him. “What is it?”

Ryo snatched the phone away. There, on the screen, was the message: _sorry but im strait_. Ryo blinked. “You told Aoi you liked him?”

“What?” Saeki stammered. “N-No!”

Amane read the message over Ryo’s shoulders. “Well, _someone_ did.” Ryo flipped through the menu, and Amane’s eyes widened. “And they sent it from _your_ phone?”

“Wh-What?” Saeki snatched it back. There, under his sent messages was: _i luv u! lets b boyfriends! :D_ Saeki fell to his knees. “B-But… I didn’t! Oh god, my life is _over_!”

“Uh, vice-captain?” Ryo said nervously. “We’re about to go. Aren’t you coming?”

“Just leave without me,” Saeki whimpered into his cell phone.

“If Aoi’s straight, he won’t be _coming_ ever!” Amane snickered.

Ryo hit him on the back of the head as a favor to Kurobane for later.

\---

“Shusuke, I’m scared,” Yuta said nervously. “This is supposed to be Sanada who’s pissed, but it seems like it’s _you_.”

“It’s not me, I assure you,” Fuji patted his hand. “And, even if it was, you’d be safe.”

Yuta didn’t look convinced.

Especially since, at that moment, Yumiko rushed in. “Where are they?” she demanded. “Where are my adorable little baby brothers?”

Fuji and Yuta both froze in horror.

“There you are!” Yumiko waved and headed over to them. “I got your emergency text message, Yuta, and I’ve brought _all_ the stuff you needed.” She opened up the bag under her arm and began pulling things out to hand to them. “Here’s extra underwear, since you both ran out. I brought you two the ones with little cacti and little rocket ships that I got you for your last birthdays. For some reason, they were buried at the very bottom of your drawers. I don’t know why, since they’re so cute!” She held them up to inspect their cuteness.

 _All_ the boys in the room broke out laughing.

“And here’s some anti-itch cream for the boil on Yuta’s butt,” Yumiko handed it over to a stunned Yuta. “And some, er, more _special_ cream for the rash on Shusuke’s, er, _special place_.”

Fuji gaped at her numbly.

“Now,” she ruffled both their hair, “amn’t I the _best_ big sister ever?” She graced them with a beatific smile.

Yuta screamed and fainted.

Fuji just stood there, frozen almost comatose with embarrassment.

“I am, amn’t I?” Yumiko answered her own question happily.

\---

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god,” Kawamura whimpered to himself.

“We’re next!” Kaidoh panicked. “I _knew_ it was a bad idea! I tried to warn everyone!”

“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” Kawamura asked.

“No one can save us now…” Kaidoh whimpered.

“Ahem,” Sanada’s very recognizable, very authoritarian cough cut them off.

Twin screams followed.

“It wasn’t me, I swear!” Kaidoh insisted.

“I didn’t want to!” Kawamura assured him. “But then I had the racket, and I go kind of crazy when that happens, and I’m so, _so_ sorry!”

Sanada cracked his knuckles.

“ _Please_ don’t kill us!” Kaidoh begged.

“We’ll make it up to you! We promise!” Kawamura agreed.

“I have decided on your punishments,” Sanada said very calmly, his eyes hidden beneath the brim of his cap.

Kaidoh and Kawamura clung to each other and shivered.

“A hundred laps!” Sanada ordered.

Kaidoh and Kawamura blinked.

“Th-That’s it?” Kaidoh finally ventured.

Sanada shrugged. “I know it wasn’t either of your ideas,” he conceded. “So a hundred laps before I change my mind!”

“Y-Yes!” Kawamura agreed, and they were both off running.

Sanada watched them go with a satisfied smile and removed the cell phone from his pocket. “It worked perfectly,” he informed Yukimura as soon as he picked up.

“Mmm,” Yukimura agreed, “of course it did.”

Sanada sighed, just like the little girl Yanagi had been imitating earlier. “You’re so incredible,” he purred into the phone.

“Just for that?” Yukimura said lightly. “But, Sanada, I thought you understood. After they made things so hard for my vice-captain, they deserved what they’ve gotten so far…”

Sanada smiled into the phone at Yukimura’s melodious voice of revenge.

“And,” Yukimura said angelically, “ _that was only the beginning_.”


End file.
